UBLIC 



•Ma n d-4- 



(jffARLOR READINGS 




Bort__ J JLl 



OojPgfeN°__ll^. 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 




Young Folks' Readings 



FOR 



SOCIAL AND PUBLIC ENTERTAINMENT. 



EDITED BY 



LEWIS B. MONROE 



BOSTON: 
LEE AND SHEPARD, PUBLISHERS. 




§ IVss copies *?eratw^ 

18 1904 

e§.tf§S £^XXo. Na 




Copyright, 1876, by Lewis B. Monroe. 
Copyright, 1904, by Mrs. Lewis B. Monroe. 



Yocng Yot.W Ei 



Xorruaofi Press : 
Berwick & Smith Co., Norwood, Mas§., U.S.A. 



PEEFACE 



Three volumes of u Public and Parlor Headings " 
have already been given to the public, and have 
met a cordial reception. Now comes the demand 
for something adapted to younger minds. Accord- 
ingly this book has been prepared. The range of 
pieces it contains will be found suitable for young 
persons from ten to sixteen years of age. Yet, 
while there is little or nothing here which may not 
be fully appreciated by the " Young Folks," we 
feel confident that adults will derive equal pleasure 
from the use of the pieces in their public and private 
entertainments. 

We are gratified to see on every hand indica- 
tions that reading is more and more appreciated as 
a graceful and elegant accomplishment, and a source 
of enjoyment in the social circle and public assembly. 
It only needs that this growing taste should be 
properly cultivated to make the s art of reading a 
powerful means of moral and esthetic culture, with- 
out losing a whit of its value as a delightful amuse- 
ment. " To read well is to think well, to feel well, 

3 



4 PEEFACE. 

and to render well ; it is to possess at once intel- 
lect, soul, and taste." 

We hope that the specimens we have given will 
act as incentives to the young to go to the original 
sources, and cultivate a more intimate acquaintance 
with the gifted authors quoted. 

A part of the pieces have been written or adapted 
especially for this book. Beyond this, our thanks 
are due to the various writers and publishers by 
whose kind permission the selections have been used. 
We are particularly indebted to J. T. Trowbridge, 
Esq., for valuable assistance. His " Vagabonds " 
and " Darius Green," given in the other volumes 
of this series, have enjoyed a popularity with read- 
ers and audiences only rivalled by Poe's " Raven " 
and " Bells." And we doubt not the pieces he has 
furnished for this volume — some of them prepared 
by him especially for the purpose — are also destined 
to become prime favorites. 



CONTENTS 



PAGE 

Cicely and the Bears Lilliput Levee . . 9 

The Test of Sight C. P. Cranch ... 14 

That Ten Dollars 16 

The O'Lincoln Family Wilson Flagg . . 22 

The Blacksmith of Bottledell .... Jas. M. Thompson 23 

The Stone-Cdtter Bayard Taylor . 25 

The Two Church-Builders John G. Saxe . . 27 

My Sister 29 

Awaking a Boy J. M. Bailey ... 30 

The Wonderful Sack . . . J. T. Trowbridge . 31 

Peter's Eide to the Wedding 38 

Little Pat and the Parson 39 

Both Sides Gail Hamilton . . 41 

The Worsted Stocking 44 

The Story of the Little Rid Hin . . . Riverside Mag. . . 49 

The King and the Locusts 53 

Griper Greg 56 

The Children Dickinson .... 50 

The Eagle and the Spider Krilof 61 

Never Give Up Tupper 62 

Kitten Gossip T. Westwood ... 63 

John Burns of Gettysburg Bret Harte ... 65 

Lilliput Levee 68 

The Soldier Bird 72 

Beautiful Grandmamma ........ Stand, of the Cross 75 

The Boys 77 

Politics Marion Douglass . 79 

Little Benny 81 

The Eternal Burden . 83 

Letting the Old Cat die 84 

The Wives of Brixham 85 

5 



6 CONTENTS. 

Christopher Columbus 88 

The Puzzled Census-Taker John G. Saxe ... 90 

Truth M . F. Tupper . . 91 

Lingering Latimer 91 

Ode to Spring 92 

Robert of Lincoln Bryant 93 

At Sea J. T. Trowbridge . 95 

The Shadow on the Blind 96 

The Portraits 98 

The Three Warnings Mrs. Thrale . . . 100 

Der Baby 103 

Guilty or Not Guilty? 104 

My Balloon Ascent 106 

Mrs. June's Prospectus Susan Coolidge . . 109 

The King of Denmark's Ride Caroline E. Norton 111 

The Forget-me-not 112 

The Little Reader Olive Leaf .... 114 

The Carriage and Couple 116 

Little Diamond and Drunken Cabman . George Macdonald 117 

Santa Claus and the Motherless Children 123 

Only a Shaving Owen Meredith . . 127 

Romance at Home Fanny Fern . . . 130 

How He Saved St. Michael's 132 

Snyder's Nose "Fat Contributor" 136 

The High Tide 139 

The Motherless Turkeys Marion Douglass . 141 

A Bird's-eye View 142 

The Fox in the Well J. T. Trowbridge . 143 

A Little Child's Trials John Neal .... 145 

Curfew must not ring to-night .... Rosa A. Hardwick 147 

My Father's Half-Bushel 150 

The Fruits of Liberty Macaulay .... 151 

Wink . . . Mrs. E. D. Kendall 152 

The Stubborn Boot Hearth and Home 154 

Marston Moor W. M. Praed . . . 155 

Caldwell of Springfield Bret Harte ... 158 

Washington Eliza Cooke . . . 159 

A Hundred Years Ago 160 

A Night of Terror 162 

The Unfinished Prayer . 165 

Blindman's Buff Horace Smith . . 166 

Kearny at Seven Pines E. C. Stedman . . 168 



CONTENTS. 7 

Baby Faith Christian Observer 170 

Be Patient Trench 171 

My Dog " Sport," Rev. Thos. Street . 172 

Scipio to the Senate D. A. Wasson . . 176 

King Robert of Sicily Longfellow .... 177 

Our Fathers Charles Sprague . 183 

Motives op Action Lord Mansfield . . 185 

If I were a Voice Charles Mackay . 186 

The Song of Steam 187 

The Wreck of the Hesperus ..... Longfellow .... 189 

A Grecian Fable 191 

The Coming Woman Christian Union . 192 

The Affray in King Street, Boston, 1770, Hawthorne .... 195 

Tit for Tat 197 

To Whom shall we give Thanks ? 199 

The Dynmouth Fisherman 200 

Three Little Nest-Birds 204 

Anger and Enumeration James M. Bailey . 206 

King Christian the Dane 208 

The Brahmin and the Tiger 211 

Jingles Examiner .... 213 

Prayer and Potatoes 214 

Mice at Play Neil Forrest . . . 217 

The Petrified Fern 224 

The Blacksmith's Story Frank Clive . . . 225 

Naming the Chickens Mrs. L. B. Bacon . 229 

The Advertisement Answered Frank M. Thorn . 230 

Love in a Balloon Litchfield Moseley . 234 

Tom 's come Home J. T. Trowbridge . 241 

Wyatt's Harangue to the London 

Crowd Tennyson .... 247 

Waking Caroline Mason . 248 

The Angel's Story Adelaide Procter . 250 

How Tom Sawyer got his Fence white- 
washed Mark Twain . . . 255 

Our Oriole Neighbors Beverly Moore . . 258 

Defence of Hofer, the Tyrolese Patriot 259 

The Little Hero 262 

The Historical Butcher 267 

Babie Bell T. B. Aldrich . . 268 

Jimmy Butler and the Owl 271 



8 CONTENTS. 

Bachelor's Hall 275 

Shelling Peas C. P. Cranch . . . 276 

The Two Weavers Hannah More . . 278 

The Art of Conversation Punch 280 

Bobby Robert Chambers . 281 

The Legend of the Organ-Builder . . Harper's Magazine 283 

Under the Wagon 287 

A Boy's Journal 288 

The Last Serpent T. Crofton OroJcer . 289 

A Domestic Scene 291 

The Sweets of Liberty 292 

A Letter of Blunders •• 293 

On the Ramparts bare, stood the Lady fair 295 

Count Candespina's Standard George H. Boker . 297 

A Clever Trick 300 

Katie Lee and Willie Gray 302 

The Sailor's Consolation William Pitt . . . 304 

The Language of Signs 305 

The Raven Edgar A. Poe . . 308 

An Evening with Helen's Babies . . . J. Habberton . . . 313 

Has not since been heard of 316 

The Discontented Buttercup Sarah 0. Jewett . 317 

A Wedding March on Trial 318 

Grandmother Gray Mary K. Boutelle . 320 

The Sailor-Boy's Dream Dimond 322 

Nancy Blynn's Lovers J. T. Trowbridge . 324 



Young Folks 1 Readings. 



CICELY AND THE BEARS. 



OYES ! 0, yes ! 0, yes ! ding-dong ! " 
j The bellman's voice is loud and strong, 
So is his bell : " 0, yes ! ding-dong ! " 

He wears a coat with golden lace ; 

See how the people of the place 

Come running to hear what the bellman says ! 

"0, yes ! Sir Nicholas Hildebrand 
Has just returned from the Holy Land, 
And freely offers his heart and hand — 

'- 0, yes ! 0, yes ! 0, yes ! ding-dong ! " 

All the women hurry along, 

Maids and widows, a clattering throng. 

"0, sir, you are hard to understand ! 
To whom does he offer his heart and hand ? 
Explain your meaning, we do command ! ,; 

9 



10 YOUNG FOLKS' READINGS. 

" 0, yes ! ding-dong ! you shall understand ! 
0, yes ! Sir Nicholas Hildebrand 
Invites the ladies of this land 

" To feast with him, in his castle strong, 
This very day at three. Ding-dong ! 
0, yes 1 0, yes ! 0, yes ! ding-dong ! " 

Then all the women went off to dress, 
Mary, Margaret, Bridget, Bess, 
Patty, and more than I can guess. 

They powdered their hair with golden dust, 
And bought new ribbons — they said they must 
But none of them painted, we will trust. 

Long before the time arrives, 

All the women that could be wives 

Are dressed within an inch of their lives. 

Meanwhile Sir Nicholas Hildebrand 

Had brought with him from the Holy Land 

A couple of bears — 0, that was grand ! 

He tamed the bears, and they loved him true ; 
Whatever he told them they would do — 
Hark ! 'tis the town clock striking two I 



ii. 

Among the maidens of low degree 
The poorest of all was Cicely — 
A shabbier girl could hardly be. 

" 0, I should like to see the feast, 

But my frock is old, my shoes are pieced, 

My hair is rough ! " — (It never was greased.) 



CICELY AND THE BEARS. 11 

The clock struck three ! She durst not go ! 
But she heard the band, and, to see the show, 
Crept after the people that went in a row. 

When Cicely came to the castle gate, 
The porter exclaimed, " Miss Shaggypate, 
The hall is full, and you come too late ! " 

Just then the music made a din, 
Flute, and cymbal, and culverin, 
And Cicely, with a squeeze, got in. 

0, what a sight ! Full fifty score 
Of dames that Cicely knew, and more, 
Filling the hall from dais to door ! 

The dresses were like a garden bed, 
Green and gold, and blue and red — 
Poor Cicely thought of her tossy head ! 

She heard the singing — she heard the clatter — 
Clang of flagon and clink of platter — 
But, 0, the feast was no such matter ! 

For she saw Sir Nicholas himself, 
Raised on a dais just like a shelf, 
And fell in love with him — shabby elf ! 

Her heart beat quick ; aside she stepped ; 
Under the tapestry she crept, 
Tousling her tossy hair, and wept ! 

Her cheeks were wet, her eyes were red. 
" Who makes that noise ? " the ladies said ; 
" Turn out that girl with the shaggy head 1 " 



12 



in. 

Just then there was heard a double roar, 
That shook the place, both wall and floor : 
Everybody looked to the door. 

It was a roar, it was a growl ; 
The ladies set up a little howl, 
And flapped and clucked like frightened fowl. 

Sir Hildebrand for silence begs — 

In walked the bears on their hinder legs, 

Wise as owls, and merry as grigs ! 

The dark girls tore their hair of sable ; 
The fair girls hid underneath the table ; 
Some fainted ; to move they were not able. 

But most of them could scream and screech — 
Sir Nicholas Hildebrand made a speech — 
" Order ! ladies, I do beseech ! ;? 

The bears looked hard at Cicely, 
Because her hair hung- wild and free — 
" Related to us, miss, you must be ! " 

Then Cicely, filling two plates of gold 
As full of cherries as they could hold, 
Walked up to the bears, and spoke out bold : - 

" Welcome to you ! and to you, Mr. Bear ! 
Will you take a chair ? will you take a chair ? 
This is an honor, we do declare ! " 

Sir Hildebrand strode up to see, 
Saying, " Who may this maiden be ? 
Ladies, this is the wife for me 1 " 



CICELY AND THE BEARS. 13 

Almost before they could understand, 
He took up Cicely by the hand, 
And danced with her a saraband. 

Her hair was rough as a parlor broom ; 
It swung, it swirled all round the room — 
Those ladies were vexed, we may presume. 

Sir Nicholas kissed her on the face, 
And set her beside him on the dais, 
And made her the lady of the place. 

The nuptials soon they did prepare, 
With a silver comb for Cicely's hair : 
There were bands of music everywhere. 

And in that beautiful bridal show 
Both the bears were seen to go 
Upon their hind legs to and fro 1 

Now every year on the wedding day 
The boys and girls come out to play, 
And scramble for cherries as they may. 

With a cheer for this and the other bear, 
And a cheer for Sir Nicholas, free and fair, 
And a cheer for Cis, of the tossy hair — 

With one cheer more (if you will wait) 
For every girl with a curly pate, 
Who keeps her hair in a proper state. 

Sing bear's grease ! curling-irons to sell ! 
Sing combs and brushes ! sing tortoise-shell ! 
0, yes ! ding-dong ! the crier, the bell ! 
Isn't this a pretty tale to tell ? 



14 YOUNG FOLKS' READINGS. 

THE TEST OP SIGHT. 

A CHINESE STORY. 

TWO young, short-sighted fellows, Chang and Ching, 
Over their chop-sticks idly chattering, 
Fell to disputing which could see the best. 
At last they agreed to put it to the test. 
Said Chang, "A marble tablet, so I hear, 
Is placed upon the Bo-hee temple near, 
With an inscription on it. Let us go 
And read it (since you boast your optics so), 
Standing together at a certain place 
In front, where we the letters just may trace ; 
Then he who quickest reads the inscription there, 
The palm for keenest eyes henceforth shall bear." 
"Agreed," said Ching ; " and let us try it soon : 
Suppose we say to-morrow afternoon." 
" Nay, not so soon," said Chang ; " I'm bound to go 
To-morrow a day's ride from Ho-hang-ho, 
And shan't be ready till the following day. 
At ten a. m., on Thursday, let us say." 

So 'twas arranged. But Ching was wide awake ; 
Time by the forelock he resolved to take, 
And to the temple went at once, and read 
Upon the tablet, " To the illustrious Dead, 
The chief of Mandarins, the great Goh-bang." 
Scarce had he gone, when stealthily came Chang, 
Who read the same ; but, peering closer, he 
Spied in a corner — what Ching failed to see — 
The words, " This tablet is erected here 
By those to whom the great Goh-bang was dear." 



THE TEST OF SIGHT. 15 

So, on the appointed day — both innocent 

As babes, of course — these honest fellows went 

And took their distant station. And Ching said, 

" I can read plainly ' To the illustrious Dead, 

The chief of Mandarins, the great Goh-bang/ " 

"And is that all that you can spell ? " said Chang. 

" I see what you have read ; but furthermore, 

In smaller letters, toward the temple-door, 

Quite plain, ' This tablet is erected here 

By those to whom the great Goh-bang was dear/ " 

" My sharp-eyed friend, there are no such words/ ' said 

Ching. 
" They're there/ 7 said Chang, " if I see anything, 
As clear as daylight.' ' " Patent eyes, indeed, 
You have!" cried Ching. "Do you think I cannot 

read?" 
" Not at this distance, as I can/' Chang said, 
" If what you say you saw is all you read/' 

In fine, they quarrelled, and their wrath increased ; 
Till Chang said, " Let us leave it to the priest. 
Lo, here he comes to meet us." u It is well," 
Said honest Ching j "no falsehood he will tell/ 



11 



The good man heard their artless story through, 
And said, " I think, dear sirs, there must be few 
Blest with such wondrous eyes as those you wear. 
There's no such tablet or inscription there. 
There was one, it is true ; 'twas moved away 
And placed within the temple yesterday." 

C. P. ClUNCH. 



16 YOUNG FOLKS' READINGS. 



THAT TEN DOLLARS. 



IT was odd, very odd ; reckon it up this way or that 
way, or in whatever way I might, the result was 
just the same — I had ten dollars more than I could 
account for. I went over the whole quarter's receipts 
again, to see if something had not been omitted ; but 
everything was quite right. " Ha ! what's this ? It 
looks like a scratching out ; and yet it can't be, for I 
never use a penknife." So I held the leaf up to the 
light, and scanned it closely, and then, turning it over, 
scrutinized it again. " It certainly does look very 
much like an erasure ; but no, 'tis only a little rough- 
ness on the surface of the paper." I was completely 
puzzled. It was quite possible for me to have too 
little ; but to have ten dollars too much — I could 
not understand that at all. " Well," I said to myself, 
" it's better, at any rate, than having ten dollars too 
little." Still, the idea of there being a mistake some- 
where made me feel very uncomfortable. 

I had been busy preparing my accounts in order to 
present them to my employers in the morning, for the 
morrow was quarter-day, and I knew that in nothing 
could a clerk offend so much as by being wrong in 
his balance. So I thought a little, and then deter- 
mined to consult Jackson, our managing clerk. I 
was young at the time — not more than twenty ; and, 
having been in the establishment only a few months, 
I knew but little of his character. He was exceed- 
ingly attentive to business ; but there were some 
vague floating rumors going the round of the place, 
which accredited him with anything but a steady life. 



THAT TEN DOLLARS. 17 

But he had always been very civil, and even kind, to 
me ; and so, in my dilemma, I sought his advice. He 
went over my accounts with me, but could detect 
nothing wrong. 

" Well, Watson,"- he said, " you are on the right 
side now, and if you take my advice, you will keep 
there. Just pocket the money, and say nothing 
about it." 

Seeing that I demurred, he continued, — 

" Of course you can do as you please ; but I know 
this much, if you were that ten dollars short, you 
would have to make it up in quick time." 

I was again about to make my objections to this 
mode of procedure, when I was cut short by a sales- 
man, who came to say that Mr. Jackson was wanted 
in the sale-room. As he strode away, Jackson turned 
round, and said, — 

" I'll see you about it again, Watson ; in the mean 
time, you need not mention it to any one." 

I saw no more of him till my labors were done for 
the day, and I was reaching my hat down from its 
peg, when he tapped me over the shoulder. 

" One word, Watson, before you go : if ever it 
should be found out where the mistake lies, I will 
make it all right for you. Good night." 

That night the ten dollars were ever before me. 
The last thing I remember, before falling asleep, was 
thinking of the ten dollars ; I slept, and dreamed of 
ten dollars. In the morning, whilst at breakfast, I 
laid the whole affair before my mother, and asked her 
counsel. 

" Give up the money, of course." 

" But you see, mother, I am afraid it would offend 
2 



18 YOUNG FOLKS' READINGS. 

Jackson, he seems so much to wish me to hush 
it up." 

" Never mind Jackson ; do what is right, and I am 
sure it will be better for you in the end. Tell Mr. 
Elliot " — the head partner — " how it is, and I am 
certain he won't be angry." 

I ate the remainder of my meal in silence ; for, 
whilst I did not wish to make an enemy of Jackson, 
who could, if he pleased, make my situation very un- 
pleasant, I had strong compunctions about keeping 
the money. Breakfast was over, and, as I was leav- 
ing home, my mother took hold of my hand, and 
said, — 

" Promise me, Henry, before you go, that you will 
give up the money." 

1 hesitated. 

" Surely, Henry, you would not steal ? " 

" Steal ? Never ! " And I promised at once. 

Jackson found no time to speak to me that morning, 
being engaged with Mr. Elliot ; but when, in my turn, 
I entered the private office, I saw him cast an inquir- 
ing glance towards me. 

" This seems all right, Watson," said Mr. Elliot, 
after looking over my account. " Have you anything 
else?" 

" Yes, sir ; I have still ten dollars, of which I am 
unable to give any account." 

" Strange ! Are you sure that you have missed 
nothing ? " 

" Quite, sir ; I have been over everything several 
times, and last night Mr. Jackson was kind enough to 
assist me." 

" It's strange ; but you can put the money back into 



THAT TEN DOLLARS. 19 

your safe. I dare say it will be* found out before the 
next quarter is up. And by the by, Watson, I intend 
to raise your salary. Holloway is going to leave, and 
I wish you to take his place." 

I thanked him, and heartily, too j for a hundred dol- 
lars a year was no small increase at our house. 

" Let me see. I think, Jackson, he had better begin 
to-morrow." 

" Yes, sir ; it will be most convenient." 

" You hear, Watson. I believe there's nothing 
more. Good morning." 

There was joy in our house that night, and on the 
morrow I went forth with a light heart to take posses- 
sion of Hoiloway's stool. 

And now, dear reader, just take a jump over the 
next three years. Jackson was still in his place ; but 
I had risen step by step, until I occupied a post in- 
ferior only to that held by himself. The mystery at- 
tached to my ten dollars had never been unravelled, 
and they still reposed peacefully in my safe. Jack- 
son and I got on very well together j but there was 
one thing which I could not understand. For a few 
nights before quarter-day, Jackson always, under 
some pretence or other, took the books home with 
him ; but as I did not consider it my place to inter- 
'fere, I said nothing. 

It was the quarter-day at the end of the three years 
of which I have spoken, and I was assisting Mr. Elliot 
in examining the account of one of the junior clerks, 
whose ledger exhibited a glaring deficiency of one 
hundred and fifty dollars. The youth was not the 
brightest in the world, and for a time he seemed 
stunned. But he was sure it must be some mistake 



20 

of mine ; his cash was all right three days ago ; and he 
took the book to see for himself. The result was the 
same — deficit, one hundred and fifty dollars. Again 
he went over it, and I could see the big drops of sweat 
roll down his face as he again came to the same horri- 
ble conclusion — deficit, one hundred and fifty dollars. 
A third time he essayed to reconcile the difference ; 
but, suddenly stopping short, he turned to Mr. Elliot, 
and cried, — 

" These are not my figures, sir." 

" Then whose are they ? " 

" I don't know, sir ; they are not mine ; look, sir, 
something has been scratched out here." 

" Umph ! So there has. Has the ledger ever been 
out of your care ? " 

" No, sir — that is, yes — twice." 

" When ? " 

" Last night and the night before." 

" Who had it ? " 

" Mr. Jackson." 

" Then call Mr. Jackson up here." 

He came. 

" Mr. Jackson," said Mr. Elliot, " there's an error 
in Brown's account : something appears to have been 
scratched out ; and as I understand you have had his 
ledger the last two nights, I thought perhaps you 
could explain it." 

Jackson turned deadly pale, and, bending down to 
hide the ghastly hue of his countenance, he pretended 
to examine the figures. 

Yes ; there had been an erasure ; but he could ex- 
plain it. He had a private memorandum in his desk ; 
he would fetch it. 



THAT TEN DOLLARS. 21 

Ten minutes went by, but Jackson did not return. 

" Watson/' said Mr. Elliot, " will you go and say 
that I shall be pleased if Mr. Jackson will come here 
immediately ? " 

I went, but could not find him. 

" Osborne," I asked of a porter, " have you seen Mr. 
Jackson ? " 

" Yes, sir ; he went out about ten minutes ago." 

"Went out?" 

il Yes, sir ; he came down stairs looking very white, 
and, taking his hat, he said he felt rather ill, and would 
get a little air." 

I went back and told Mr. Elliot. 

" ! " was all he uttered ; and then turning on his 
heel, he motioned for us to follow. He first went to 
Osborne, who repeated his story again ; and then he 
crossed to Jackson's desk, which was locked. A smith 
was sent for, and the lock forced. 

" Mr Watson," said Mr. Elliot, taking out Jackson's 
books, — he had never called me Mr. Watson before, — 
" will you come with me to my private room ? I shall 
want you for a few minutes." 

That few minutes expanded into hours ; and the dis- 
covery of embezzlements by Jackson, to the extent of 
some thousand dollars, was the result of our labor. 
These frauds extended over several years ; and, by a 
curious coincidence, the very first of them was con- 
nected with my ten dollars — the last, of course, with 
Brown's hundred and fifty. Need I say that Jackson 
was never heard of again ? 

That night I walked home as the managing clerk 
of the firm of Elliot and Co. ; and never since have I 
forgotten the lesson taught me by my ten dollars. 



22 YOUNG folks' readings. 



THE O'LLNCOLN FAMILY. 

A FLOCK of merry birds were sporting in the grove ; 
Some were warbling cheerily, and some were mak- 
ing love : 
These were Bobolincoln, Wadolincoln, Winterseeble, Con- 

queedle ; 
A livelier set were never led by tabor, pipe, or fiddle ; 
Crying, "Phew, shew, Wadolincoln! see, see, Bobolincoln, 
Down among the tickle tops, hiding in the buttercups ! 
I know the sauc} 7- chap ; I see his shining cap 
Bobbing in the clover there : see, see, see ! " 

Up flies Bobolincoln, perching on an apple tree, 
Startled by his rival's song, quickened by his raillery. 
Soon he spies the rogue afloat, curveting in the air, 
And merrily he turns about, and warns him to beware ! 
" 'Tis you that would a wooing go, down among the 

rushes, ! 
But wait a week, till flowers are cheery ; wait a week, 

and ere you marry 
Be sure of a house wherein to tarry ! 
Wadolink, Whiskodink, Tom Denny, wait, wait, wait ! " 

Every one's a funny fellow ; every one's a little mellow ; 

Follow, follow, follow, o'er the hill and in the hollow ! 

Merrily, merrily, there they hie ; now they rise, and now 
they fly ; 

They cross and turn, and in and out, and down in the 
middle, and wheel about, 

With a " Phew, shew, Wadolincoln ! listen to me, Bobo- 
lincoln ! 

Happy's the wooing that's speedily doinjg, that's speedily 
doing ; 

That's merry and over, with the bloom of the clover ! 

Bobolincoln, Wadolincoln, Winterseeble, follow, follow 
me!" 



THE BLACKSMITH OF BOTTLEDELL. 23 

0, what a happy life they lead, over the hill and in the 

mead ! 
How they sing, and how they play ! See, they fly away, 

away ! 
Now they gambol o'er the clearing ; off again, and then 

appearing ; 
Poised aloft on quivering wing, now they soar, and now 

they sing, — 
" 0, let us be merry and moving ! 0, let us be happy 

and loving ! 
For when midsummer has come, and the grain has ripened 

its ear, 
The haymakers scatter our young, and we mourn for the 

rest of the year ! 
Then Bobolincoln, Wadolincoln, Winterseeble, haste, haste 



away ! " 



Wilson Flagg. 



THE BLACKSMITH OF BOTTLEDELL. 

HORNY hands and swarthy face, 
Burliest of a burly race, 
The Saxon blacksmith took his place, 

Beside his anvil. " Sir," said I, 

" They say you've laid a fortune by ; 

Why still your hard vocation ply ? " 

" Stranger," said he, " I see your plan, 
A prying, interviewing man, 
Come to find out all you can, 

" And put it in the papers. Well, 
You see I did quit work a spell, 
Till Tom Sparks came to Bottledell ; 



24 YOUNG FOLKS 7 headings. 

" Tom Sparks, the blacksmith over there, 
At t'other corner of the square, 
And folks said I wa'n't anywhere — 

" That this Tom Sparks could beat me blind 

At blacksmith work of any kind, 

Specially putting on hosses' shoes behind ! " 

The speaker paused and breathed a spell, 
And from his eyes the flash that fell 
Lit the bravest face in Bottledell. 

" Stranger, I don't care what you say ; 
I'm rather odd, I've got my way ; 
I'll get on top, and there Til stay — 

" That is, I don't care what the loss is, 
Learn my trade over, work under bosses, 
Or beat Tom Sparks a shoeing hosses ! " 

There is a lesson, — learn it well, — 
Taught in the story that I tell 
Of that proud smith of Bottledell. 

He had a soul, the type of those 
To whom success forever goes, 
For whom the victor's laurel grows. 

Such wills as his have caught the world, 
And held it fast when thrones were hurled 
Together, and the red flames curled 

Above the wreck. When Cassar fell 
No grander spirit said farewell 
Than had the smith of Bottledell ! 

James Maurice Thompson 



THE STONE-CUTTER. 25 



THE STONE-CUTTER. 

ONCE upon a time there was in Japan a poor stone- 
cutter — a simple workman in the quarries. His 
life was rude ; he worked much, gained little, and was 
not at all contented with his fate. 

" 0, if I could only be rich enough to rest, to sleep 
on thick matting, wrapped in a kirimon of soft silk ! " 
Such was the sigh which he breathed to Heaven. An 
angel intercepted it. 

" It shall be according to thy desire," said the angel 
to him. And he at once became rich ; and he rested, 
slept upon thick matting, and wrapped himself in a 
kirimon of soft silk. 

It happened that the emperor passed by. He was 
preceded by heralds on foot and horseback, followed 
b}^ a brilliant escort of cavaliers, and surrounded by 
persons who held over his head an immense parasol, 
resplendent with gold. 

" What good does it do me to be rich/' murmured 
the man, " as long as I have not the right to go out 
with an escort, and my head protected by a golden 
parasol? Why am I not the emperor? " 

" Thou shalt be," said the angel. 

And, indeed, he became the emperor. He had an 
escort before and behind him, and people who held 
above his head an immense parasol, resplendent with 
gold. 

However, the sun, with his ardent beams, dried up 
the country, and the dusty road, quivering with his 
brightness, fatigued the eyes. 

" It is a great advantage to be emperor," cried the 



26 YOUNG FOLKS' keadings. 

man, " when the heat of the day exhausts you, and 
the sun never ceases to make you feel his power ! 
But if one could be the sun ! " 

11 Behold! are you satisfied?" the angel asked-; for 
he had become the sun ; and he darted his beams up 
and down, right and left, and all around him. And 
he scorched the herbage of the earth and the faces 
of the princes upon the earth. 

But now a cloud thrust itself between the earth 
and him ; it held back the rays of the sun, and pre- 
vented them from falling upon the earth's surface. 

" There is strength," cried the sun ; " a cloud capa- 
ble of resisting my power. It would be better if I 
were a cloud." 

" Yery well," said the angel. 

And the transformation was at once accomplished. 
The new cloud placed itself haughtily between the 
sun and the earth, and so thoroughly intercepted the 
rays of the sun that it soon saw the earth covered 
with its shadow. Then it caused big drops of rain, 
and pouring showers, and waterspouts to fall on the 
lands, so that the torrents burst their bounds, and the 
rivers spread over and devastated the fields. 

Nothing resisted the force of the inundation ; only 
a rock defied it, perfectly motionless. In vain the 
bellowing waters beat in their fury ; the rock yielded 
not, but the foaming waves died at its foot. 

" A rock, then, is my superior," said the cloud j " I 
would rather be in its place." 

" You shall be," said the angel. 

And he was transformed into a steep, unshaken rock, 
insensible to the rays of the sun, indifferent to the tor- 
rents of rain and the shock of the tumultuous waves. 



THE TWO CHURCH-BUILDERS. 27 

Nevertheless, he distinguished at his feet a man 
of poor appearance, hardly clothed, but armed with 
a chisel and a hammer ; and the man, with the help 
of these instruments, struck off pieces of the rock, 
which he dressed into stones proper for cutting. 

" What is that ? " cried the rock ; " has a man the 
power of rending pieces of stone from my breast ? 
Shall I be weaker than he ? Then it is absolutely 
necessary that I should be that man." 

" Have your will/ 7 said the angel ; and he became 
again what he had been — a poor stone-cutter, a 
simple workman in the quarries. His life was rude, 
he worked much, and gained little ; but he was con- 
tented with his lot. 

[From " Japan in Our Day," by Batakd Taylor-I 



THE TWO CHURCH-BUILDERS. 



A FAMOUS king would build a church, 
A temple vast and grand ; 
And, that the praise might be his own, 

He gave a strict command 
That none should add the smallest gift 
To aid the work he planned. 

II. 

And when the mighty dome was done, 

Within the noble frame, 
Upon a tablet broad and fair, 

In letters all aflame 
With burnished gold, the people read 

The royal builder's name. 



28 YOUNG folks' readings. 

III. 

Now, when the king, elate with pride, 
That night had sought his bed, 

He dreamed he saw an angel come 
(A halo round his head), 

Erase the royal name, and write 
Another in its stead. 

IV. 

What could it mean ? Three times that night 

That wondrous vision came ; 
Three times he saw that angel hand 

Erase the royal name, 
And write a woman's in its stead, 

In letters all aflame. 



Whose could it be ? He gave command 

To all about his throne 
To seek the owner of the name 

That on the tablet shone ; 
And so it was the courtiers found 

A widow poor and lone. 

VI. 

The king, enraged at what he heard, 
Cried, " Bring the culprit here ! " 

And to the woman, trembling sore, 
He said, " 'Tis very clear 

That you have broken my command ; 
Now let the truth appear ! " 

VII. 

" Your majesty," the widow said, 

" I can't deny the truth ; 
I love the Lord, — my Lord and yours, — 



MY SISTER. 29 

And so, in simple sooth, 
I broke your majesty's command. 
(I crave your royal ruth.) 

VIII. 

" And since I had no money, sire, 

Why, I could only pray 
That God would bless your majesty ; 

And when along- the way 
The horses drew the stones, I gave 

To one a wisp of hay." 

IX. 

" Ah ! now I see," the king exclaimed, 

" Self-glory was my aim ; 
The woman gave for love of God, 

And not for worldly fame ; 
'Tis my command the tablet bear 

The pious widow's name." 

Johh G. Saxh. 



MY SISTER. 

WHO held the tempting cherry nigh, 
And always tried to make me cry, 
And stuck the scissors in my eye ? 

My sister. 

Who threw my playthings on the floor, 
And broke my doll behind the door, 
And my best ribbons always wore ? 

My sister. 

Who pinched my kitten's ear or tail, 
And ducked her in the water pail, 
And laughed at her unearthly wail ? 

My sister. 



30 YOUNG folks' readings. 

Who spilled her coffee in my lap, 
And tore mamma's new breakfast cap, 
And blurred with ink my atlas map ? 

My sister. 

Who's glad dear sister's married now, 
And not at home to raise a row ? 
I know who's happy, any how ! 

Her sister ! 



AWAKING A BOY. 

CALLING a boy up in the morning can hardly be 
classed under the head of " pastimes," especially 
i T the boy is fond of exercise the day before. And 
it is a little singular that the next hardest thing to 
getting a boy out of bed is getting him into it. 

There is rarely a mother who is a success at rous- 
ing a boy. All mothers know this ; so do their boys. 
And yet the mother seems to go at it in the right way. 
She opens the stair-door, and insinuatingly observes, 
"Johnny!" There is no response. "John-ray/" Still 
no response. Then there is a short, sharp " John ! " 
followed a moment later by a prolonged and emphatic 
" John Henry ! " 

A grunt from the upper regions signifies that an 
impression has been made, and the mother is encour- 
aged to add, " You'd better be getting down here to 
your breakfast, young man, before I come up there, 
an' give you something you'll feel." This so startles 
the young man that he immediately goes to sleep 
again. And the operation has to be repeated several 
times. 



THE WONDERFUL SACK. 31 

A father knows nothing about this trouble. He 
merely opens his mouth as a soda bottle ejects its 
cork, and the " John Henry " that cleaves the air of 
that stairway goes into that boy like electricity, and 
pierces the deepest recesses of his very nature. And 
he pops out of that bed, and into his clothes, with a 
promptness that is commendable. 

It is rarely a boy allows himself to disregard the 
paternal summons. About once a year is believed to 
be as often as is consistent with the rules of health. 
He saves his father a great many steps by his thought- 
fulness. 



THE WONDERFUL SACK. 

THE apple boughs half hid the house 
Where lived the lonely widow ; 
Behind it stood the chestnut wood, 
Before it spread the meadow. 

She had no money in' her till ; 

She was too poor, to borrow ; 
With her lame leg she could not beg ; 

And no one cheered her sorrow. 

She had no wood tp cook her food, 
And but one chair to sit in ; 

Last spring she lost a cow, that cost 
A whole year's steady knitting. 

She had worn her fingers to the bone ; 

Her back was growing double ; 
One day the pig tore up her wig, — 

But that's not half her trouble. 



32 YOUNG folks' readings. 

Her best black gown was faded brown ; 

Her shoes were all in tatters, 
With not a pair for Sunday wear : 

Said she, " It little matters ! 

" Nobody asks me now to ride ; 

My garments are not fitting ; 
And with my crutch I care not much 

To hobble off to meeting. 

"I still preserve my Testament, 
And though the Acts are missing, 

And Luke is torn, and Hebrews worn, 
On Sunday 'tis a blessing. 

" And other days I open it 

Before me on the table, 
And there I sit, and read, and knit, 

As long as I am able." 

One evening she had closed the book, 

But still she sat there knitting ; 
" Meow-meow ! " complained the old black cat ; 

" Mew-mew ! " the spotted kitten. 

And on the hearth, with sober mirth, 
" Chirp, chirp ! " replied the cricket. 

; Twas dark, — but hark ! " Bow-ow ! " the bark 
Of Ranger at the wicket ! 

Is Ranger barking at the moon ? 

Or what can be the matter ? 
What trouble now ? " Bow-ow ! bow-ow ! " — 

She hears the old gate clatter. 

" It is the wind that bangs the gate, 

And I must knit my stocking ! " 
But hush ! — what's that ? Rat-tat ! rat-tat ! 

Alas ! there's some one knocking ! 



THE WONDERFUL SACK. 33 

'■' Dear me ! dear me ! who can it be ? 

Where, where is my crutch-handle ? '-' 
She rubs a match with hasty scratch ; 

She cannot light the candle ! 

Rat-tat ! scratch, scratch ! the worthless match ! 

The cat growls in the corner. 
Rat-tat ! scratch, scratch ! Up flies the latch, — 

" Good evening, Mrs. Warner ! " 

The kitten spits and lifts her back, 

Her eyes glare on the stranger j 
The old cat's tail ruffs big and black ; 

Loud barks the old dog Ranger ! 

Blue burns at last the tardy match, 

And dim the candle glimmers ; 
Along the floor beside the door 

The cold white moonlight shimmers. 

" Sit down ! " — the widow gives her chair 

" Get out ! " she says to Ranger. 
" Alas ! I do not know your name." 

" No matter ! " quoth the stranger. 

His limbs are strong, his beard is long, 

His hair is dark and wavy ; 
Upon his back he bears a sack ; 

His staff is stout and heavy. 

" My way is lost, and with the frost 

I feel my fingers tingle." 
Then from his back he slips the sack, — 

Ho ! did you hear it jingle ? 

" Nay, keep your chair ! while you sit there, 

I'll take the other corner." 
" Fm sorry, sir, I have no fire ! " 

" No matter, Mrs. Warner ! " 
3 






34 YOUNG folks' headings. 

He shakes his sack, — the magic sack ! 

Amazed the widow gazes ! 
Ho, ho ! the chimney's full of wood 1 

Ha, ha J the wood it blazes ! 

Ho, ho ! ha, ha ! the merry fire ! 

It sputters and it crackles ! 
Snap, snap ! flash, flash ! old oak and ash 

Send out a million sparkles. 

The stranger sits upon his sack 

Beside the chimney-corner, 
And rubs his hands before the brands, 

And smiles on Mrs. Warner. 

She feels her heart beat fast with fear ; 

But what can be the danger ? 
" Can I do aught for you, kind sir ? " 

" I'm hungry ! " quoth the stranger. 

" Alas ! " said she, " I have no food 

For boiling or for baking ! ' ? 
u I've food," quoth he, " for you and me ! ; 

And gave his sack a shaking. 

Out rattled knives, and forks, and spoons ! 

Twelve eggs, potatoes plenty ! 
One large soup dish, two plates of fish, 

And bread enough for twenty ! 

And Rachel, calming her surprise, 

As well as she was able, 
Saw, following these, two roasted geese, 

A tea-urn, and a table ! 

Strange, was it not ? each dish was hot ; 

Not even a plate was broken ; 
The cloth was laid, and all arrayed, 

Before a word was spoken ! 



' THE WONDERFUL SACK. 35 

" Sit up ! sit up ! and we will sup, 

Dear madam, while we're able ! " 
Said she, " The room is poor and small 

For such a famous table ! " 

Again the stranger shakes the sack ; 

The walls begin to rumble ! 
Another shake ! the rafters quake ! 

You'd think the roof would tumble ! 

Shake, shake ! the room grows high and large, 

The walls are painted over ! 
Shake, shake ! out fall four chairs, in all, 

A bureau, and a sofa ! 

The stranger stops to wipe the sweat 

That down his face is streaming. 
" Sit up ! sit up ! and we will sup," 

Quoth he,'" while all is steaming !" 

The widow hobbled on her crutch ; 

He kindly sprang to aid her. 
" All this," said she, " is too much for me ! " 

Quoth he, " We '11 have a waiter ! " 

Shake, shake, once more ! and from the sack 

Out popped a little fellow, 
With elbows bare, bright eyes, sleek hair, 

And trousers striped with yellow. 

His legs were short, his body plump, 

His cheek was like a cherry ; 
-He turned three times ; he gave a jump ; 
- His laugh rang loud and merry ! 

He placed his hand upon his heart, 

And scraped and bowed so handy ! 
" Your humble servant, sir," he said, 

Like any little dandy. 






36 YOUNG folks' eeadings. 

The widow laughed a long, loud laugh, 
And up she started, screaming ; 

When ho ! and lo ! the room was dark ! — 
She'd been asleep and dreaming ! 

The stranger and his magic sack, 

The dishes and the fishes, 
The geese and things, had taken wings, 

Like riches, or like witches ! 

All, all was gone ! She sat alone ; 

Her hands had dropped their knitting. 
" Meow-meow ! " the cat upon the mat ; 

" Mew-mew ! mew-mew ! " the kitten. 

The hearth is bleak, — and hark ! the creak, 
" Chirp, chirp ! " the lonesome cricket. 
. " Bow-ow ! " says Ranger to the moon ; 
The wind is at the wicket. 

And still she sits, and as she knits, 

She ponders o'er the vision : 
*' I saw it written on the sack, 

' A Cheerful Disposition.' 

*' I know God sent the dream, and meant 

To teach this useful lesson, 
That out of peace and pure content 

Springs every earthly blessing ! " 

Said she, " I'll make the sack my own ! 

I'll shake away all sorrow ! " 
She shook the sack for me to-day ; 

She'll shake for you to-morrow. 

She shakes out hope ; and joy, and peace, 

And happiness come after ; 
She shakes out smiles for all the world ; 

She shakes out love and laughter. 



THE WONDERFUL SACK. 37 

For poor and rich, — no matter which, — 

For young folks or for old folks, 
For strong and weak, for proud and meek, 

For warm folks and for cold folks ; — 

For children coming home from school, 

And sometimes' for the teacher ; 
For white and black, she shakes the sack, — 

In short, for every creature. 

And everybody who has grief, 

The sufferer and the mourner, 
From far and near, come now to hear 

Kind words from Mrs. Warner. 

They go to her with heavy hearts, 

They come away with light ones ; 
They go to her with cloudy brows, 

They come away with bright ones. 

All love her well, and I could tell 

Of many a cheering present 
Of fruits and things their friendship brings, 

To make her fireside pleasant. 

She always keeps a cheery fire ; 

The house is painted over ; 
She has food in store, and chairs for four, 

A bureau, and a sofa. 

She says these seem just like her dream, 

And tells again the vision : 
*" I saw it written on the sack, — 

' A Cheerful Disposition ! ' 7; 

J. T. Trowbridge. 



38 YOUNG FOLKS' READINGS. 



PETER'S RIDE TO THE WEDDING. 

PETER would ride to the wedding — he would ; 
So he mounted his ass ; — and his wife, 
She was to ride behind, if she could, 
" For," says Peter, " the woman, she should 
Follow, not lead through life. 

" He's mighty convenient, the ass, my dear, 

And proper and safe — and now 
You hold by the tail, while I hold by the ear, 
And we'll ride to the kirk in time, never fear, 

If the wind and the weather allow." 

The wind and the weather were not to be blamed, 

But the ass had adopted the whim, 
That two at a time was a load never framed 
For the back of one ass, and he seemed quite ashamed' 

That two should stick fast upon him. 

-" Come, Dobbin," says Peter, " I'm thinking we'll trot." 

" I'm thinking we won't," says the ass, 
In language of conduct, and stuck to the spot 
As if he had sworn he would sooner be shot 
Than lift up a toe from the grass. 

Says Peter, says he, " I'll whip him a little." 

" Try it, my dear," says she. 
But he might just as well have whipped a brass kettle. 
The ass was made of such obstinate mettle 

That never a step moved he. 

" I'll prick him, my dear, with a needle," said she ; 

"I'm thinking he'll alter his mind." 
The ass felt the needle, and up went his heels ; 
" I'm thinking," says Peter, " he's beginning to feel 

Some notion of moving — behind. 



LITTLE PAT AND THE PARSON. 39 

" Now lend me the needle, and I'll prick his ear, 

And set t'other end, too, agoing." 
The ass felt the needle, and upward he reared ; 
But kicking and rearing was all, it appeared, 

He'd any intention of doing. 

Says Peter, says he, " We get on rather slow ; 

While one end is up, t'other sticks to the ground ; 
But I'm thinking a method to move him I know : 
Let's prick head and tail together, and so 

Give the creature a start all around." 

So said, so done ; all hands were at work, 

And the ass he did alter his mind, 
For he started away with so sudden a jerk 
That in less than a trice he arrived at the kirk, 

But he left all his lading behind. 



LITTLE PAT AND THE PAKSON. 

HE stands at the door of the church peeping in ; 
No troublesome beadle is near him ; 
The preacher is talking of sinners and sin, 

And little Pat trembles to hear him ; 
A poor little fellow alone and forlorn, 

Who never knew parent or duty, - — 

His head is uncovered, his jacket is torn, 

And hunger has withered his beauty. 

The white-headed gentleman shut in the box 

Seems growing more angry each minute ; 
He doubles his fist, and the cushion he knocks, 

As if anxious to know what is in it. 
He scolds at the people who sit in the pews ; 

Pat takes them for kings and princesses. 
(With his little bare feet — he delights in their shoes 

In his rags — he feels proud of their dresses !) 



40 YOUNG folks' eeadings. 

The parson exhorts them to think of their need, 

To turn from the world's dissipation, 
The naked to clothe, and the hungry to feed. 

Pat listened with strong approbation ! 
And when the old clergyman walks down the aisle, 

Pat runs up to meet him right gladly. 
" Shure, give me my dinner," says he, with a smile, 

" And a jacket, — I want them quite badly ! " 

The kings and princesses indignantly stare, 

The beadle gets word of the danger, 
And, shaking his silver-tipped stick in the air, 

Looks knives at the poor little stranger. 
But Pat's not afraid ; he is sparkling with joy, 

And cries — who so willing to cry it ? — 
" You'll give me my dinner — I'm such a poor boy : 

You said so — now don't you deny it ! " 

The pompous old beadle may grumble and glare, 

And growl about robbers and arson ; 
But the boy who has faith in the sermon stands there, 

And smiles at the white-headed parson ! 
The kings and princesses may wonder and frown, 

And whisper he wants better teaching ; 
But the white-headed parson looks tenderly down 

On the boy who has faith in his preaching. 

He takes him away without question or blame, 

As eager as Patsy to press on, 
For he thinks a good dinner (and Pat thinks the same) 

Is the moral that lies in the lesson. 
And after long years, when Pat, handsomely dressed — 

A smart footman — is asked to determine 
Of all earthly things what's the thing he likes best, 

He says, '.* Och ! shure, the master's ould sermin ! ". 



BOTH SIDES. 41 



BOTH SIDES. 

a j^iTTY, Kitty, you mischievous elf, 
IV What have you, pray, to say for yourself? " 

But Kitty was now- 
Asleep on the mow, 
And only drawled dreamily, " Me-a-ow !" 

" Kitty, Kitty, come here to me — 
The naughtiest Kitty I ever did see ! 
I know very well what you've been about ; 
Don't try to conceal it ; murder will out. 
Why do you lie so lazily there ? " 

" 0, I have had a breakfast rare ! u 

" Why don't you go and hunt for a mouse ? " 

" 0, there's nothing fit to eat in the house ! " 

" Dear me ! Miss Kitty, 

This is a pity ; 
But I guess the cause of your change of ditty. 
What has become of the beautiful thrush 
That built her nest in the heap of brush ? 
A brace of young robins as good as the best ; 
A round little, brown little, snug little nest ; 
Four little eggs all green and gay, 
Four little birds all bare and gray, 
And Papa Robin went foraging round, 
Aloft on the trees, and alight on the ground. 
North wind, or south wind, he cared not a groat, 
So he popped a fat worm down each wide-open throat ; 
And Mamma Robin through sun and storm 
Hugged them up close, and kept them all warm ; 
And me, I watched the dear little things 
Till the feathers pricked out on their pretty wings., 



42 YOUNG folks' readings. 

And their eyes peeped up o'er the rim of the nest. 
Kitty, Kitty, you know the rest. 
The nest is empty, and silent, and lone ; 
Where are the four little robins gone ? 

Puss ! you have done a cruel deed ! 

Your eyes, do they weep ? your heart, does it bleed ? 

Do you not feel your bold cheeks turning pale ? 

Not you ! You are chasing your wicked tail, 

Or you just cuddle down in the hay and purr, 

Curl up* in a ball, and refuse to stir. 

But you need not try to look good and wise ; 

1 see little robins, old Puss, in your eyes ; 
And this morning, just as the clock struck four, 
There was some one opening the kitchen door, 
And caught you creeping the wood-pile over. 
Make a clean breast of it, Kitty Clover ! " 

Then Kitty arose, 

Rubbed up her nose, 
And looked very much as if coming to blows ; 

Rounded her back, 

Leaped from the stack, 
On her feet, at my feet, came down with a whack. 
Then, fairly awake, she stretched out her paws, 
Smoothed down her whiskers, and unsheathed her claws, 

Winked her green eyes 

With an air of surprise, 
And spoke rather plainly for one of her size. 

" Killed a few robins ; well, what of that ? 
What's virtue in man can't be vice in a cat. 
There's a thing or two / should like to know : 
Who killed the chicken a week ago, 
For nothing at all that I could spy, 
But to make an overgrown chicken pie ? 

'Twixt you and me, 

'Tis plain to see, 
The odds is, you like fricassee, 



BOTH SIDES. 43 

While my brave maw 
Owns no such law, 
Content with viands a-Zo-raw. 

" Who killed the robins ? 0, yes ! 0, yes ! 
I would get the cat now into a mess ! 

Who was it put 

An old stocking-foot, 

Tied up with strings 

And such shabby things, 
On to the end of a sharp, slender pole, 
Dipped it in oil, and set fire to the whole, 
And burnt all the way from here to the miller's 
The nests of the sweet young caterpillars ? 

Grilled fowl, indeed ! 

Why, as I read, 
You had not even the plea of need ; 

For all you boast 

Such wholesale roast, 
I saw no sign, at tea or toast, 
Of even a caterpillar's ghost. 

" Who killed the robins ? Well, I should think ! 

Hadn't somebody better wink 

At my peccadilloes, if houses of glass 

Won't do to throw stones from at those who pass ? 

I had four little kittens a month ago, — 

Black, and Malta, and white as snow ; 

And not a very long while before 

I could have shown you three kittens more. 

And so in batches of fours and threes, 

Looking back as long as you please, 

You would find, if you read my story all, 

There were kittens from time immemorial. 

" But what am I now ? A cat bereft. 

Of all my kittens, but one is left. 

I make no charges, but this I ask : 

What made such a splurge in the waste-water cask ? 



44 YOUNG folks' readings. 

You are quite tender-hearted. 0, not a doubt ! 
But only suppose old Black Pond could speak out. 
0, bother ! don't mutter excuses to me : 
Qui facit per alium facit per se." 

" Well, Kitty, I think full enough has been said, 
And the best thing for you is, go straight back to bed. 

A very fine pass 

Things have come to, my lass, 

If men must be meek 

While pussy-cats speak 
Grave moral reflections in Latin and Greek ! " 

Gail Hamilton. 



THE WORSTED STOCKING. 

" "PATHER will have done the great chimney to-night 
1 — won't he, mother ? " said little Tom Howard, 
as he stood waiting for his father's breakfast, which he 
carried to him at his work every morning. 

" He said he hoped all the scaffolding would be down 
to-night," answered his mother, " and that'll be a fine 
sight ; for I never like the ending of those great chim- 
neys, it's so risky. Thy father's to be the last up." 

" Eh, then, but I'll go and see him, and help 'em to 
give a shout afore he comes down," said Tom. 

" And then," continued his mother, " if all goes 
right, we are to have a frolic to-morrow, and go into 
the country, and take our dinners, and spend all the 
day amongst the woods." 

" Hurrah ! " cried Tom, as he ran off to his father's 
place of work with a can of milk in one hand and some 
bread in the other. His mother stood at the door as 
he went merrily whistling down the street ; and then 
she thought of the dear father he was going to, and 



' THE WORSTED STOCKING. 45 

the dangerous work lie was engaged in ; and then her 
heart sought its sure refuge, and she prayed to God 
to protect and bless her treasures. 

Tom, with a light heart, pursued his way to his 
father, and leaving him his breakfast, went to his 
own work, which was at some distance. In the even- 
ing, on his way home, he went round to see how his 
father was getting on. James Howard, the father, 
and a number of other workmen had been building 
one of those lofty chimneys, which, in our great manu- 
facturing towns, almost supply the place of other archi- 
tectural beauty. This chimney was one of the highest 
and most tapering that had ever been erected ; and as 
Tom, shading his eyes from the slanting rays of the 
setting sun, looked up to the top in search of his 
father, his heart almost sank within him at the appall- 
ing height. The scaffolding was almost all down; the 
men at the bottom were removing the last beams and 
poles. Tom's father stood alone on the top. He 
looked all round to see that everything was right, 
and then, waving his hat in the air, the men below 
answered him with a long, loud cheer, little Tom 
shouting as heartily as any of them. As their voices 
died away, however, they heard a very different sound 
— a cry of alarm and horror from above : " The rope ! 
the rope ! " 

The men looked round, and coiled upon the ground 
lay the rope, which, before the scaffolding was re- 
moved, should have been passed over the top of the 
chimney for Tom's father to come down by. The 
scaffolding had been taken down without their remem- 
bering to take the rope up. There was a dead silence. 
They all knew it was impossible to throw the rope up 



46 YOUNG folks' readings. 

high enough or skilfully enough to reach the top of 
the chimney ; or if it could, it would hardly have been 
safe. They stood in silent dismay, unable to give any 
help, or think of any means of safety. 

And Tom's father ! He walked round and round 
the little circle, the dizzy height seeming every mo- 
ment to grow more fearful, and the solid earth far- 
ther and farther from him. In the sudden panic he 
lost his presence of mind, and his senses almost failed 
him. He shut his eyes ; he felt as if the next moment 
he must be dashed to pieces on the ground below. 

The day had passed as industriously and swiftly as 
usual with Tom's mother at home. She was always 
busily employed for her husband and children in some 
way or other, and to-day she had been harder at work 
than usual, getting ready for the holiday to-morrow. 
She had just finished all her preparations, and her 
thoughts were silently thanking God for her happy 
home and for all the blessings of life, when Tom ran 
in. His face was as white as ashes, and he could 
hardly get his words out : " Mother ! mother ! he 
canna get down ! " 

" Who, lad ? Thy father ? " asked his mother. 

"They've forgotten to leave him the rope," answered 
Tom, still scarcely able to speak. His mother started 
up horror-struck, and stood for a moment as if para- 
lyzed ; then, pressing her hands over her face, as if 
to shut out the terrible picture, and breathing a prayer 
to God for help, she rushed out of the house. 

When she reached the place where her husband 
was at work, a crowd had collected round the foot 
of the chimney, and stood there quite helpless, gaz- 
ing up with faces full of horror. " He says he'll 



' THE WOESTED STOCKING. 47 

throw himself down," exclaimed they, as Mrs. How- 
ard came up. " He's going to throw himself down." 

" Thee munna do that, lad," cried the wife, with 
clear, hopeful voice. " Thee munna do that. Wait 
a bit. Tak' off thy stocking, lad, and unravel it, and 
let down the thread with a bit of mortar. Dost hear 
me, Jem ? " 

The man made a sign of assent, for it seemed as if 
he could not speak ; and, taking off his stocking, un- 
ravelled the worsted thread, row after row. The peo- 
ple stood round in breathless silence and suspense, 
wondering what Tom's mother could be thinking of, 
and why she sent in such haste for the carpenter's 
ball of twine. 

" Let down one end of the thread with a bit of 
stone, and keep fast hold of the other," cried she to 
her husband. The little thread came waving down 
the tall chimney, blown hither and thither by the 
wind ; but at last it reached the outstretched hands 
that were waiting for it. Tom held the ball of string 
while his mother tied one end of it to the worsted 
thread. " Now, pull it up slowly," cried she to her 
husband. And she gradually unwound the string as 
the worsted drew it gently up. It stopped — the 
string had reached her husband. " Now, hold the 
string fast and pull it up," cried she. And the string 
grew heavy and hard to pull, for Tom and his mother 
had fastened the thick rope to it. They watched it 
gradually and slowly uncoiling from the ground, as the 
string was drawn higher. 

There was but one coil left. It had reached the 
top. "Thank God! Thank God!" exclaimed the 
wife. She hid her face in her hands — in silent 



48 YOUNG FOLKS' READING3. 

prayer, and tremblingly rejoiced. The rope was up. 
The iron to which it should be fastened was there 
all right ; but would her husband be able to make use 
of them ? Would not the terror of the last hour have 
so unnerved him as to prevent him from taking the 
necessary measures for his safety ? She did not know 
the magic influence which her few words had exer- 
cised over him. She did not know the strength that 
the sound of her voice, so calm and steadfast, had filled 
him with ; as if the little thread that carried him the 
hope of life once more had conveyed to him some por- 
tion of that faith which nothing ever destroyed or 
shook in her true heart. She did not know that, as 
he waited there, the words came over him, "Why art 
thou cast down, my soul? and why art thou dis- 
quieted within me ? Hope thou in God." 

There was a great shout. " He's safe, mother ; he's 
safe ! " cried little Tom. 

" Thou'st saved me, Mary ! " said her husband, fold- 
ing her in his arms. " But what ails thee ? Thou 
seem'st more sorry than glad about it ! " 

But Mary could not speak, and if the strong arm 
of her husband had not held her up, she would have 
fallen to the ground. The sudden joy, after such great 
fear, had overcome her. 

" Tom," said his father, " let thy mother lean on thy 
shoulder, and we will take her home." And in their 
happy home they poured forth their thanks to God for 
his great goodness ; and their happy life together felt 
dearer and holier for the peril it had been in, and for 
the nearness that the danger had brought them unto 
God. And the holiday, next day — was it not a 
thanksgiving day? 



THE STORY OF THE LITTLE RID HIN. 49 



THE STORY OF THE LITTLE RID HIN. 

THERE was once't upon a time 
A little small rid hin 
Off in the good ould country 
Where yees ha' nivir bin. 

Nice and quiet shure she was, 
And nivir did any harrum ; 

She lived alane all be herself, 
And worked upon her farrum. 

There lived out o'er the hill, 

In a great din o 7 rocks, 
A crafty, shly, and wicked 

Ould folly iv a fox. 

This rashkiH iv a fox, 

He tuk it in his head 
He'd have the little rid hin ; 

So, whin he wint to bed, 

He laid awake and thaught, 
What a foine thing 'twad be 

To fetch her home, and bile her up 
For his ould marm and he. 

And so he thaught and thaught, 

Until he grew so thin 
That there was nothin' left of him 

But jist his bones and shkin. 

But the small rid hin was wise ; 

She always locked her door, 
And in her pocket pit the key, 

To keep the fox out, shure. 
4 



50 YOUNG FOLKS' readings. 

But at last there came a schame 

Into his wicked head ; 
And so he tuk a great big bag, 

And to his mither said, — 

" Now have the pot all bilin' 

Agin the time I come ; 
We'll ate the small rid hin to-night, 

For shure I'll bring her home." 

And so away he wint 

Wid the bag upon his back, 

An' up the hill and through the woods 
Softly he made his thrack. 

And thin he came alang, 
Craping as shtill's a mouse, 

To where the little small rid hin 
Lived in her shnug ould house. 

An' out she comes hersel', 

Jist as he got in sight, 
To pick up shticks to make her fire. 

" Aha ! " says fox, " all right. 

" Begorra, now, I'll have yees 
Widout much throuble more ; " 

An' in he shlips quite unbeknownst, 
An' hides be'ind the door. 

An' thin a minute afther, 
In comes the small rid hin, 

An' shuts the door, an' locks it, too, 
An' thinks, " I'm safely in." 

An' thin she tarns around, 
An' looks behind the door ; 

Thare shtands the fox wid his big tail 
Shpread out upon the floor. 



THE STORY OP THE LITTLE RID HIN. 



51 



Dear me ! she was so schared 
Wid such a wondrous sight, 

She dropped her aprouful of shticks, 
An' flew up in a fright, 

An' lighted on the bame 

Across on top the room ; 
" Aha ! V says she, " ye don't have me ; 

Ye may as well go home.' ; 

" Aha ! " says fox, " we'll see ; 

I'll bring yees down from that." . 
So out he marched upon the floor 

Right under where she sat. 

An' thin he whiruled around, 

An' round, an' round, an' round, 

Fashter, an' fashter, an' fashter, 
Afther his tail on the ground. 

Until the small rid hin 

She got so dizzy, shure, 
Wid lookin' at the fox's tail, 

She jist dropped on the floor. 

An' fox, he whipped her up, 

An' pit her in his bag, 
An' off he started all alone, 

Him and his little dag. 

All day he tracked the wood, 

Up hill an' down again ; 
And wid him, schmothrin' in the bag, 

The little small rid hin. 



Sorra a know she knowed 

Awhere she was that day ; 
Says she, " I'm biled an' ate up, shure, 

An' what'll be to pay ? " 



52 YOUNG folks' readings. 

Thin she betho't hersel', 

An' tuk her schissors out, 
An' schnipped a big hole in the bag", 

So she could look about. 

An' 'fore ould fox could think 
She lept right out — she did, 

An' thin picked up a great big shtone 
An' popped it in instid ; 

An' thin she rins off home ; 

Her outside door she locks ; 
Thinks she, tl You see you don't have me, 

You crafty, shly ould fox." 

An' fox, he tugged away 

Wid the great big hivy shtone 

Thimpin' his shoulders very bad 
As he wint in alone. 

An' whin he came in sight 

0' his great din o' rocks, 
Jist watchin 7 for him at the door 

He shpied ould mither fox. 

" Have ye the pot a-bilin' ? " 

Says he to ould fox thin ; 
" Shure an' it is, me child," says she ; 

" Have ye the small rid hin ? " 

" Yes, jist here in me bag, 
As shure as I shtand here ; 

Open the lid till I pit her in : 
Open it — niver fear." 

So the rashkill cut the shtring, 

An' hild the big bag over ; 
" Now when I shake it in," says he, 

Do ye pit on the cover." 



THE KING AND THE LOCUSTS. 



53 



" Yis, that I will ;"an' thin 
The shtone whit in wid a dash, 

An' the pot o' boilin' wather 
Came over them ker-splash. 

An' schalted 'em both to death, 
So they couldn't brathe no more ; 

An' the little small rid hin lived safe, 
Jist where she lived before. 



THE KING AND THE LOCUSTS. 

A STORY WITHOUT AN END. 

THERE was a certain king, who, like many other 
kings, was very fond of hearing stories told. To 
this amusement he gave up all his time ; but yet he 
was never satisfied. All the exertions of all his cour- 
tiers were in vain. The more he heard, the more he 
wanted to hear. At last he made a proclamation, that 
if any man would tell him a story that should last for- 
ever, he would make him his heir, and give him the 
princess, his daughter, in marriage ; but if any one 
should pretend that he had such a story, but should 
fail, — that is, if the story did come to an end, — he 
was to have his head chopped off. 

For such a rich prize as a beautiful princess and a 
kingdom many candidates appeared ; and dreadfully 
long stories some of them told. Some lasted a week, 
some a month, some six months : poor fellows ! they all 
spun them out as long as they possibly could, you may 
be sure ; but all in vain ; sooner or later they all came 
to an end ; and, one after another, the unlucky story- 
tellers had their heads chopped off. 



54 YOUNG FOLKS' readings. 

At last came a man who said that he had a story 
which would last forever, if his majesty would be 
pleased to give him a trial. 

He was warned of his danger : they told him how 
many others had tried, and lost their heads ; but he 
said he was not afraid, and so he was brought before 
the king. He was a man of a very composed and 
deliberate manner of speaking ; and, after making all 
requisite stipulations for time for his eating, drinking, 
and sleeping, he thus began his story : — 

" king ! there was once a king who was a great 
tyrant. And, desiring to increase his riches, he seized 
upon all the corn and grain in his kingdom, and put it 
into an immense granary, which he built on purpose, 
as high as a mountain. 

" This he did for several years, till the granary was 
quite full up to the top. He then stopped up doors 
and windows, and closed it up fast on all sides. 

" But the bricklayers had, by accident, left a very 
small hole near the top of the granary. And there 
came a flight of locusts, and tried to get at the corn ; 
but the hole was so small that only one locust could 
pass through it at a time. So one locust went in and 
carried off one grain of corn ; and then another locust 
went in and carried off another grain of corn ; and then 
another locust went in and carried off another grain of 
corn ; and then another locust went in and carried off 
another grain of corn ; and then another locust went in 
and carried off another grain of corn ; and then another 
locust went in and carried off another grain of corn ; 
and then another locust went in and carried off another 
grain of corn — " 

He had gone on thus from morning to night (ex- 






THE KING AND THE LOCUSTS. 



55 



cept while he was engaged at his meals) for about a 
month ; when the king, though a very patient king, 
began to be rather tired of the locusts, and inter- 
rupted his story with : " Well, well, we have had 
enough of the locusts ; we will suppose that they 
have helped themselves to all the corn they wanted ; 
tell us what happened afterwards." To which the 
story-teller answered, very deliberately, u If it please 
your majesty, it is impossible to tell you what hap- 
pened afterwards before I have told you what hap- 
pened first." And so he went on again : " And then 
another locust went in and carried off another grain 
of corn ; and then another locust went in and carried 
off another grain of corn ; and then another locust went 
in and carried off another grain of corn." The king 
listened with admirable patience six months more, 
when he again interrupted him with : " friend, I 
am weary of your locusts ! How soon do you think 
they will have done?" To which the story-teller 
made answer : " king, who can tell ? At the time 
to which my story has come, the locusts have cleared 
away a small space, it may be a cubit, each way round 
the inside of the hole ; and the air is still dark with 
locusts on all sides ; but let the king have patience, 
and, no doubt, we shall come to the end of them in 
time." 

Thus encouraged, the king listened on for another 
full year, the story-teller still going on as before : 
" And then another locust went in and carried off 
another grain of corn; and then another locust went 
in and carried off another grain of corn ; and then 
another locust went in and carried off another grain 
of corn," till at last the poor king could bear it no 



56 YOUNG F0LK3' READINGS. 

longer, and cried out, " man, that is enough ! Take 
my daughter ! take my kingdom ! take anything — 
take everything ! only let us hear no more of those 
abominable locusts ! " 

And so the story-teller was, married to the king's 
daughter, and was declared heir to the throne ; and 
nobody ever expressed a wish to hear the rest of his 
story, for he said it was impossible to come to the 
other part of it till he had done with the locusts. 
The unreasonable caprice of the foolish king was 
thus overmatched by the ingenious device of the 
wise man. 



GRIPER GREG. 

GRIPER GREG, of the village of Willoughby Waterless, 
A miserly hunks who was sonless and daughterless, 
Nieceless and nephewless, why did he haste to lay 
Gold in queer corners for strangers to waste away ? 

Were there no claimants upon his cold charity — 
Poor fellow-creatures heart-void of hilarity — 

Fatherless, motherless, 

Sisterless, brotherless, 

Husbandless, wifeless, 

Forkless and knifeless, 
Dinnerless, supperless wretches, to pray or beg ? 
None in his neighborhood, loudly to say to Greg : 
" Stone-hearted miser, behold you, we perish ! 
Give us some victuals, our faint frames to cherish " ? 

Yes, there were orphans, Tom, Jack, Dick, and Ned, 
Lean, tiny creatures, ill clothed and worse fed ; 
Widows there were, Dinah, Ruth, Prue, and Kate, 
Bearers alike of the hard blows of Fate ; 



GRIPER GREG. 57 

Old pauper Will, too, who travelled on crutches, 
With mouth pulled aside by neuralgical clutches, 
And limbs drawn awry by rheumatical twitches, 
Bewrapped in old blankets, without coat or breeches, — 
No sister, no daughter, no wife, to take care of him ; 
The very dogs barked, " Bow-wow ! Beggar ! beware 
of him ! » 

And many more hunger-bit, tatter-clad sorrowers, 
Fain would have been relieved, beggars or borrowers, 
At Griper Greg's door, where they often cried piteously ; 
But Greg — he grinned fiercely, and frowned on them 
viciously. 

One day, the snow fell thick and fast, 

One drear midwinter's day ; 
And Greg was out upon the waste 

That round his cottage lay. 

No sight was there, except the snow, 

Upon the wild, wide moor ; 
And in Greg's heart began to grow 
Stern, deadly self-accusings, how 

He'd used the houseless poor. 
" If I die here," Greg wildly cried, 

" My soul's forever lost ! 
Had I my gold here by my side, 

It would not pay the cost 
To ransom me from endless pain ! 
! could I reach my home again, 
I'd give to every suffering fellow 
Whiskey enough to make him mellow." 

"They" are good words ye've said!" cried beggarman 

Pat, 
Who wandered, all weathers, without coat or hat, 
Upon the wide waste, and now chanced to be near 
Enough to the miser, his heart-grief to hear j 



58 YOUNG folks' readings. 

" They are good words ye've said ; and no better by 

preacher 
Were ever delivered about the dear erayture ; 
Make me mellow with him, and no ill shall betide ye, 
For to Willoughby Waterless safely I'll guide ye 1 ;; 

" 0, joy ! " shouted Greg, " guide me home from the 

waste, 
And the sweetest of mutton this night ye shall taste ! n 
" Bad luck to your mutton ! be't sweeter than candy, 
; Tis wormwood compared with strong whiskey or brandy!" 
" Then I'll fill ye with brandy," cried Greg, in grim fear 
That if he refused he would perish, left here. 
So home sped the miser by beggar Pat guided, 
And home safely reached — but, there, ill Greg betided. 

Griper Greg, all a-cold, shared the brandy with Pat 
Till discretion and safety he wholly forgat, 
And joked of his gold huddled up in sly corners, 
To hide it from burglars by night, and day's corners. 
Sleep seized him so nimbly, he stopped in his story, 
And Pat — wide awake then — was quite in his glory, 
And soon picked the locks, and was off with the plunder. 
Greg waked the next morning with sore grief and wonder 
To find the noon passed while he had been sleeping ; 
Then looked for his gold, and forthwith fell to weeping. 
" 0, it's gone — it's all gone ! and the curses it's 

brought me 
Might all have been saved, if I'd only bethought me 
Of sweet love and kindness, and had friends about me ; 
For then on the heath they would surely have sought me. 
But to scrape and to save has been always my plan, 
And so nobody loves me — a wretched old man ! " 
Meanwhile the thief-beggarman far off was drinking 
With horrid companions, and, cunningly winking, 
Said, " Look here, my boys ! when yer handle yer tools, 
Always try 'em on misers, for misers is fools! " 



THE CHILDREN. 59 



THE CHILDREN. 

WHEN the lessons and tasks are all ended, 
And the school for the day is dismissed, 
And the little ones gather around me 

To bid me good night and be kissed ; 
0, the little white arms that encircle 

My neck in a tender embrace ! 
0, the smiles that are halos of heaven, 
Shedding sunshine of love on my face ! 

And when they are gone, I sit dreaming 

Of my childhood, too lovely to last ; 
Of love that my heart will remember, 

When it wakes to the pulse of the past, 
Ere the world and its wickedness made me 

A partner of sorrow and sin ; 
When the glory of God was about me, 

And the glory of gladness within. 

0, my heart grows weak as a woman's, 

And the fountains of feeling will flow, 
When I think of the paths steep and stony, 

Where the feet of the dear ones must go ; 
Of the mountains of sin hanging o'er them, 

Of the tempest of Fate blowing wild ; 
0, there is nothing on earth half so holy 

As the innocent heart of a child ! 

They are idols of hearts and of households ; 

They are angels of G-od in disguise ; 
His* sunlight still sleeps in their tresses, 

His glory still gleams in their eyes. 
0, those truants from home and from heaven, 

They have made me more manly and mild ! 
And I know how Jesus could liken 

The kingdom of God to a child. 



60 YOUNG folks' readings. 

I ask not a life for the dear ones, 

All radiant, as others have done, 
But that life may have just enough shadow 

To temper the glare of the sun ; 
I would pray God to guard them from evil, 

But my prayer would bound back to myself; 
Ah ! a seraph may pray for a sinner, 

But a sinner must pray for himself. 

The twig is so easily bended, 

I have banished the rule and the rod ; 
I have taught them the goodness of knowledge, 

They have taught me the goodness of God. 
My heart is a dungeon of darkness, 

Where I shut them from breaking a rule ; 
My frown is sufficient correction ; 

My love is the law of the school. 

I shall leave the old house in the autumn, 

To traverse its threshold no more ; 
Ah ! how I shall sigh for the dear ones 

That meet me each morn at the door ! 
I shall miss the "good nights" and the kisses, 

And the gush of their innocent glee, 
The group on the green, and the flowers 

That are brought every morning to me. 

I shall miss them at morn and at eve, 

Their song in the school and the street ; 
I shall miss the low hum of their voices, 

And the tramp of their delicate feet. 
When the lessons and tasks are all ended, 

And Death says, " The school is dismissed ! " 
May the little ones gather around me, 

To bid me good night and be kissed. 

DiCKiNsojr, 



THE EAGLE AND THE SPIDER. 61 



THE EAGLE AND THE SPIDER. 

AN eagle had soared above the clouds to the loftiest 
peak of the Caucasus. There, on an ancient cedar, 
it settled, and admired the landscape visible at its feet. 
It seemed as if the borders of the world could be seen 
from thence. Here flowed rivers, winding across the 
plains ; there stood woods and meadows, adorned with 
the full garb of spring; and, beyond, frowned the angry 
Caspian Sea, black as a raven's wing. 

" Praise be to thee, Jove, that, as ruler of the 
world, thou hast bestowed on me snch powers of 
flight that I know of no heights to me inaccessible," 
— thus the eagle addressed Jupiter, — " insomuch 
that I now look upon the beauties of the world from 
a point whither no other being has flown." 

" What a boaster you are ! " replies a spider to it 
from a twig. " As I sit here, am I lower than you, 
comrade ? " 

The eagle looks up. Truly enough, the spider is 
busy spinning its web about a twig overhead, just as 
if it wanted to shut out the sunlight from the eagle. 

" How did you get up to this height ? " asked the 
eagle. " Even among the strongest of wing there are 
some who would not dare to trust themselves here. 
But you, weak and wingless, is it possible you can 
have crawled here ? " 

" No, I didn't use that means of rising aloft." 

" Well, then, how did you get here ? " 

" Why, I just fastened myself on to you, and you 
brought me yourself from down below on your tail- 
feathers. But I know how to maintain my position 



62 YOUNG folks' readings. 

here without your help, so I beg you will not assume 
such airs in my presence ; for know that I — " 

At this moment a gust of wind comes suddenly 
flying by, and whirls away the spider again into the 
lowest depths. 



NEVER GIVE UP, 

NEVER give up ! It is wiser and better 
Always to hope, than once to despair ; 
Fling off the load of doubt's cankering fetter, 
And break the dark spell of tyrannical care. 
Never give up ! or the burden may sink you ; 

Providence kindly has mingled the cup ; 
And in all trials and troubles, bethink you, 

The watchword of life must be, " Never give up 1 " 

Never give up ! There are chances and changes, 

Helping the hopeful, a hundred to one ; 
And, through the chaos, high Wisdom arranges 

Every success, if you'll only hope on. 
Never give up ! for the wisest is boldest, 

Knowing that Providence mingles the cup ; 
And of all maxims, the best, as the oldest, 

Is the true watchword of, " Never give up ! " 

Never give up ! Though the grape-shot may rattle, 

Or the full thunder-cloud over you burst ; 
Stand like a rock, and the storm and the battle 

Little shall harm you, though doing their worst. 
Never give up ! If adversity presses, 

Providence wisely has mingled the cup ; 
And the best counsel, in all your distresses, 

Is the stout watchword of, " Never give up ! " 



KITTEN GOSSIP. 63 



KITTEN GOSSIP. 

KITTEN, kitten, two months old, 
Woolly snowball, lying* snug, 
Curled up in the warmest fold 

Of the warm hearth-rug, 
Turn your drowsy head this way. 
What is Life ? 0, kitten, say ! 

" Life ? " said the kitten, winking her eyes, 
And twitching her tail in a droll surprise — 
" Life ? 0, it's racing over the floor, 
Out at the window and in at the door ; 

Now on the chair-back, now on the table, 
'Mid balls of cotton and skeins of silk, 
And crumbs of sugar and jugs of milk, 

All so cosy and comfortable. 
It's patting the little dog's ears, and leaping 
Round him and over him while he's sleeping -— 
Waking him up in a sore affright, 
Then off and away like a flash of light, 
Scouring and scampering out of sight. 
Life ? 0, it's rolling over and over 
On the summer-green turf and budding clover ; 
Chasing the shadows, as fast as they run, 
Down the garden paths in the midday sun, 
Prancing and gambolling, brave and bold, ' 
Climbing the tree-stems, scratching the mould. 
That's life ! " said the kitten two months old. 

Kitten, kitten, come sit on my knee, 

And lithe and listen, kitten, to me ; 

One by one, 0, one by one, 

The sly, swift shadows sweep over the sun — 

Daylight dieth, and kittenhood's done. 

And, kitten, 0, the rain and the wind ! 



64 YOUNG folks' readings. 

For cathood cometh, with careful mind, 
And grave cat-duties follow behind. 
Hark ! there's a sound you cannot hear ; 
I'll whisper its meaning in your ear : 

Mice ! 
(The kitten stared with her great green eyes, 
And twitched her tail in a queer surprise) — 

Mice! 
No more titbits dainty and nice ; 
No more mischief and no more play ; 
But watching by night and sleeping by day, 
Prowling wherever the foe doth lurk — 
Very short commons and very sharp work. 
And, kitten, 0, the hail and the thunder — 
That's a blackish cloud, but a, blacker's under. 
Hark ! but you'll fall from my knee I fear, 
When I whisper that awful word in your ear — 

R-r-r-rats ! 
(The kitten's heart beat with great pit-pats, 
But her whiskers quivered, and from their sheath 
Flashed out the sharp, white, pearly teeth.) 

R-r-r-rats ! 
The scorn of dogs, but the terror of cats ; 
The crudest foes and the fiercest fighters ; 
The sauciest thieves and the sharpest biters. 
But, kitten, I see you've a stoutish heart ; 
So, courage ! and play an honest part ■ 
Use well your paws, 
And strengthen your claws, 
And sharpen your teeth, and stretch your jaws — 
Then woe to the tribes of pickers and stealers, 
Nibblers and gnawers, and evil dealers ! 
But now that you know life's not precisely 
The thing your fancy pictured so nicely, 
Off and away ! race over the floor, 
Out of the window, and in at the door ; 
Roll in the turf, and bask in the sun, 
Ere night-time cometh, and kittenhood's done. 

T. Westwood. 






JOHN BURNS OP GETTYSBURG. 65 



JOHN BURNS OF GETTYSBURG. 

HAVE you heard the story that gossips tell 
Of Burns of Gettysburg ? No ? Ah, well 
Brief is the giory that hero earns, 
Briefer the story of poor John Burns : 
He was the fellow who won renown, — 
The only man who didn't back down 
When the rebels rode through his native town ; 
But held his own in the fight next day, 
When all his townsfolk ran away. 
That was in July, sixty-three, 
The very day that General Lee, 
Flower of Southern chivalry, 
Baffled and beaten, backward reeled 
From a stubborn Meade and a barren field. 

I might tell how, but the day before, 
John Burns stood at his cottage door, 
Looking down the village street, 
Where, in the shade of his peaceful vine, 
He heard the low of his gathered kine, 
And felt their breath with incense sweet ; 
Or, I might say, when the sunset burned 
The old farm gable, he thought it turned 
The milk that fell, in a babbling flood 
Into the milk-pail, red as blood ! 
Or how he fancied the hum of bees 
Were bullets buzzing among the trees. 
But all such fanciful thoughts as these 
Were strange to a practical man like Burns, 
Who minded ouly his own concerns, 
Troubled no more by fancies fine 
Than one of his calm-eyed, long-tailed kine, — 
Quite old-fashioned and matter-of-fact, 
Slow to argue, but quick to act. 
5 



66 YOUNG folks' readings. 

That was the reason, as some folks say, 
He fought so well on that terrible day. 

And it was terrible. On the right 

Raged for hours the heady fight, 

Thundered the battery's double bass, — 

Difficult music for men to face ; 

While on the left — where now the graves 

Undulate like the living waves 

That all that day unceasing swept 

Up to the pits the rebels kept — 

Round shot ploughed the upland glades ; 

Sown with bullets, reaped with blades ; 

Shattered fences here and there 

Tossed their splinters in the air ; 

The very trees were stripped and bare ; 

The barns that once held yellow grain 

Were heaped with harvests of the slain ; 

The cattle bellowed on the plain, 

The turkeys screamed with might and main, 

And brooding barn-fowl left their rest 

With strange shells bursting in each nest. 

Just where the tide of battle turns, 

Erect and lonely stood old John Burns. 

How do you think the man was dressed ? 

He wore an ancient long buff vest, 

Yellow as saffron, — but his best ; 

And, buttoned over his manly breast, 

Was a bright blue coat, with a rolling collar, 

And large gilt buttons, — size of a dollar, — 

With tails that the country-folk called " swaller." 

He wore a broad-brimmed, bell-crowned hat, 

White as the locks on which it sat. 

Never had such a sight been seen 

For forty years on the village green, 

Since old John Burns was a country beau, 

And went to the " quiltings " long ago. 



JOHN BURNS OF GETTYSBURG. 67 

Close at his elbows all that day, 

Veterans of the Peninsula, 

Sunburnt and bearded, charged away ; 

And striplings, downy of lip and chin, 

Clerks that the Home Guard mustered in, — 

Glanced, as they passed, at the hat he wore, 

Then at the rifle his right hand bore ; 

And hailed him, from out their youthful lore, 

With scraps of a slangy repertoire : 

" How are you, White Hat I" "Put her through ! " 

" Your head's level ! " and " Bully for you ! " 

Called him " Daddy, ;; — begged he'd disclose 

The name of the tailor who made his clothes, 

And what was the value he set on those ; 

While Burns, unmindful of jeer and scoff, 

Stood there picking the rebels off, — 

With his long brown rifle, and bell-crowned hat, 

And the swallow-tails they were laughing at. 

; Twas but a moment, for that respect 
Which clothes all courage their voices checked ; 
And something the wildest could understand 
Spake in the old man's strong right hand ; 
And his corded throat, and the lurking frown 
Of his eyebrows under his old bell-crown ; 
Until, as they gazed, there crept an awe 
Through the ranks in whispers, and some men saw, 
In the antique vestments and long white hair, 
The Past of the Nation in battle there ; 
And some of the soldiers since declare 
That the gleam of his old white hat afar, 
Like the crested plume of the brave Navarre, 
That day was their oriflamme of war. 

So raged the battle. You know the rest : 
How the rebels, beaten and backward pressed, 
Broke at the final charge, and ran, 
At which John Burns — a practical man — ■ 



68 YOUNG folks' eeadings. 

Shouldered his rifle, unbent his brows, 
And then went back to his bees and cows. 

That is the story of old John Burns ; 

This is the moral the reader learns : 

In fighting the battle, the question's whether 

You'll show a hat that's white, or a feather ! 

Bket Hartje. 



LILLIPUT LEVEE. 

WHERE does Pinafore Palace stand ? 
Right in the middle of Lilliput-land ! 
There the queen eats bread and honey, 
There the king counts up his money ! 

0, the glorious revolution ! 

0, the provisional constitution ! 

Now the children, clever, bold folks, 

Have turned the tables upon the old folks ! 

Easily the thing was done, 

For the children were more than two to one ; 

Brave as lions, quick as foxes, 

With hoards of wealth in their money-boxes ! 

They seized the keys ; they patrolled the street ; 
They drove the policeman off his beat ; 
They built barricades ; they stationed sentries — 
You must give the word when you come to the entries. 

They dressed themselves in the riflemen's clothes ; 
They had pea-shooters ; they had arrows and bows, 
So as to put resistance down — 
Order reigns in Lilliput-town ! 



LILLIPUT LEYEE. 69 

They made the baker bake hot rolls ; 
They made the wharfinger send in coals ; 
They made the butcher Isfll the calf ; 
They cut the telegraph-wires in half ; 

They went to the chemist's, and with their feet 
They kicked the physic all down the street ; 
They went to the school-room and tore the books ; 
They munched the puffs at the pastry-cook's ; 

They sucked the jam ; they lost the spoons ; 
They sent up several fire-balloons ; 
They let off crackers ; they burnt a guy ; 
They piled a bonfire ever so high ; 

They offered a prize for the laziest boy, 
And one for the most magnificent toy ; 
They split or burnt the canes off-hand ; 
They made new laws in Lilliput-land. 

" Never do to-day what you can 

Put off till to-morrow," one of them ranj 

" Late to bed and late to rise," 

Was another law which they did devise. 

They passed a law to have always plenty 
Of beautiful things : we shall mention twenty : 
A magic lantern for all to see, 
Rabbits to keep, and a Christmas-tree, 

A boat, a house that went on wheels, 
An organ to grind, and honey at meals, 
Drums and wheelbarrows, Roman candles, 
Whips with whistles let into the handles, 

A real live giant, a roc to fly, 

A goat to tease, a copper to shy, 

A garret of apples, a box of paints, 

A saw and a hammer, and no complaints. 



70 YOUNG folks' readings. 

Kail up the door, slide down the stairs, 
Saw off the legs of the parlor chairs — 
That was the way in Lillipnt-land, 
The children having the upper hand. 

They made the old folks come to school, 
All in pinafores — that was the rule — 
Saying, Eener-deener-diner-duss, 
Kattler-wheeler-whiler-wuss ; 

They made them learn all sorts of things 
That nobody liked. They had catechizings ; 
They kept them in ! they sent them down 
In class, in school, in Lilliput-town. 

0, but they gave them tit-for-tat ! 
Thick bread and butter, and all that ; 
Stick-jaw pudding that tires your chin, 
With the marmalade spread ever so thin ! 

They governed the clock in Lilliput-land ; 
They altered the hour or the minute-hand ; 
They made the day fast ; they made the day slow ; 
Just as they wished the time to go ; 

They never waited for king or for cat ; 
They never wiped their shoes on the mat ; 
Their joy was great ; their joy was greater ; 
They rode in the baby's perambulator ! 

There was a levee in Lilliput-town, 
At Pinafore Palace. Smith and Brown, 
Jones and Robinson, had to attend — 
All to whom they cards did send. 

Every one rode in a cab to the door ; 
Every one came in a pinafore ; 
Lady and gentleman, rat-tat-tat, 
Loud knock, proud knock, opera-hat ! 



LILLIPUT LEVEE. 71 

The place was covered with silver and gold ; 
The place was full as it ever could hold ; 
The ladies kissed her Majesty's hand ; 
Such was the custom in "Lilliput-land. 

His Majesty knighted eight or ten, 
Perhaps a score, of the gentlemen, 
Some of them short, and some of them tall — 
Arise, Sir What's-a-name What do-you-call ! 

Nuts and nutmeg (that's in the negus) ; 
The bill of fare would perhaps fatigue us ; 
Forty-five fiddlers to play the fiddle ; 
Right foot, left foot, down the middle. 

Conjuring tricks with the poker and tongs, 
Riddles and forfeits, singing of songs j 
One fat man, too fat by far, 
Tried, " Twinkle, twinkle, little star ! " 



n 



His voice was gruff, his pinafore tight ; 
His wife said, " Mind, dear ; sing it right 
But he forgot, and said, Fa-la-la ! 
The queen of Lilliput's own papa ! 

She frowned, and ordered him up to bed ; 
He said he was sorry ; she shook her head ; 
His clean shirt-front with his tears was stained 
But discipline had to be maintained. 

The constitution ! The law ! The crown I 
Order reigns in Lilliput-town ! 
The queen is Jill, and the king is John ; 
I trust the government will get on. 



72 



THE SOLDIER BIED. 

IN the spring of 1861, Chief Sky, a Chippewa Indian, 
living in the northern wilds of Wisconsin, found an 
eagle's nest. To make sure of his prize, he cut the tree 
down, and caught the eaglets as they were sliding from 
the nest to run and hide in the grass. One died. He 
carried the other home, and built a nest in a tree close 
by his wigwam. The eaglet was as large as a hen, 
and covered with soft down. The red children were 
delighted with their new pet ; and as soon as he be- 
came acquainted, he would sit down in the grass, and 
see them play with the dogs. 

But Chief Sky was poor, and he was obliged to sell 
the noble bird to a white man for a bushel of corn. 
The white man brought him to Eau Claire, a small 
village where the enlisted soldiers were busy in pre- 
paring to go to the war. " Here's a recruit," said the 
man. " An eagle ! an eagle ! " shouted the soldiers ; 
" let him enlist ! " and sure enough, he was sworn into 
the service, with ribbons around his neck — red, white, 
and blue. 

On a perch surmounted by stars and stripes the 
company took him to Madison, the capital of the state. 
As they marched into Camp Randall, with colors fly- 
ing, drums beating, and the people cheering, the eagle 
seized the flag in his beak, and spread his wings, his 
bright eye kindling with the spirit of the scene. 
Shouts rent the air, — " The Bird of Columbia ! the 
Eagle of Freedom forever ! " 

The state made him a new perch, and the boys 
named him " Old Abe ; " and the Eighth Wisconsin 



THE SOLDIER BIRD. 73 

Regiment was henceforth called " The Eagle Regi- 
ment/' On the march he was carried at the head 
of the company, and everywhere was greeted with 
delight. 

At St. Louis a gentleman offered five hundred dol- 
lars for him, and another his farm. No, no ; the boys 
had no notion of parting with their bird. He was 
above all price, — an emblem of battle and of victory. 
Besides, he interested their minds, and made them 
think less of hardships and of home. 

It was really amusing to witness the strange freaks 
and droll adventures of this bird during his three 
years' service, — his flights in the air, his fights with 
the guinea-hens, and his races with the boys. When 
the regiment was in summer quarters at Clear Creek, 
the eagle was allowed to run at large, and every 
morning went to the river, half a mile off, where he 
splashed and played in the water to his heart's 
content, faithfully returning to camp when he was 
satisfied. 

Old Abe's favorite place of resort was the sutler's 
tent, where a live chicken found " no quarter " in his 
presence. But rations became scarce, and for two 
days Abe had nothing to eat. Hard-tack he objected 
to ; fasting was disagreeable ; and Thomas, his bearer, 
could not get beyond the pickets to a farm-yard. At 
last, pushing his way to the colonel's tent, he pleaded 
for poor. Abe. The colonel gave him a pass, and 
Thomas procured for him an excellent dinner. 

One day a farmer asked Thomas to come and show 
the eagle to his children. Satisfying the curiosity of 
the family, Thomas set him down in the barn-yard. 
0, what a screeching and scattering among the fowls ! 



74 YOUNG folks' readings. 

for Abe pounced upon one and gobbled up another, to 
the great amazement of the farmer, who declared that 
such wanton behavior was not in the bargain. Abe, 
however, thought there was no harm in " confiscating" 
in time of war. 

Abe was in twenty battles, besides thirty skirmishes. 
He was at the siege of Yicksburg, the storming of 
Corinth, and marched with Sherman in his grand 
campaign. The whiz of bullets and scream of shells 
were his delight. As the battle grew hotter and 
hotter, he would flap his wings, and mingle his wildest 
notes with the thundering din around him. 

He was very fond of music, especially Yankee 
Doodle and John Brown. Upon parade he always 
gave heed to the word, "Attention!" With his eye 
on the commander, he would listen and obey orders, 
noting time accurately. After parade he would put 
off his soldierly air, flap his wings, and make himself 
at home. 

The enemy called him " Yankee Buzzard," " Old 
Owl," and other hard names ; but his eagle nature 
was quite above noticing it. One general gave 
orders to his men to be sure and capture the eagle 
of the Eighth Wisconsin ; saying he " would rather 
have him than a dozen battle-flags." But for all that, 
he scarcely lost a feather, — only one from his right 
wing. 

At last the war was over, and the brave Wisconsin 
Eighth, with their live eagle and torn and riddled 
flags, were welcomed back to Madison. They went 
out a thousand strong, and returned a little band, 
scarred and toilworn, having fought and won. 

And what of the Soldier Bird ? In the name of the 



' BEAUTIFUL GRANDMAMMA. 75 

gallant veterans, Captain Wolf presented him to the 
state. Governor Lewis accepted the illustrious gift, 
and ample quarters are provided for him in the 
beautiful State-House grounds, where may he long 
live to tell us 

"What heroes from the woodland sprang, 
When, through the fresh-awakened land, 
The thrilling cry of Freedom rang." 



BEAUTIFUL GRANDMAMMA. 

GRANDMAMMA sits in her quaint arm-chair ; 
Never was lady more sweet and fair ; 
Her gray locks ripple like silver shells, 
And her own brow its story tells 
Of a gentle life and peaceful even, 
A trust in God and a hope in heaven. 

Little girl Mary sits rocking away 

In her own low seat, like some winsome fay ; 

Two doll babies her kisses share, 

And another one lies by the side of her chair ; 

May is fair as the morning dew, 

Cheeks of roses and ribbons of blue. 

" Say, grandmamma," says the pretty elf, 

'.' Tell me a story about yourself : 

When you were little, what did you play ? 

Were you good or naughty, the whole long day ? 

Was it hundreds and hundreds of years ago ? 

And what makes your soft hair as white as snow ? 

" Did you have a mamma to hug and kiss ? 
And a dolly like this, and this, and this ? 



76 YOUNG folks' readings. 

Did you have a pussy like my little Kate ? 
Did you go to bed when the clock struck eight ? 
Did you have long curls and beads like mine ? 
And a new silk apron, with ribbons fine ? " 

Grandmamma smiled at the little maid, 
And, laying aside her knitting, she said, 
" Go to my desk, and a red box you'll see ; 
Carefully lift it and bring it to me." 
So May put her dollies away, and ran, 
Saying, " I'll be careful as ever I can." 

Then grandmamma opened the box, and lo ! 
A beautiful child, with throat like snow, 
Lips just tinted like pink shells rare, 
Eyes of hazel, and golden hair, 
Hand all dimpled, and teeth like pearls, 
Fairest and sweetest of little girls. 

" 0, who is it ? " cried winsome May. 

" How I wish she were here to-day ! 

Wouldn't I love her like everything ; 

Say, dear grandmamma, who can she be ? " 

" Darling," said grandma, " that child was me." 

May looked long at the dimpled grace, 

And then at the saint-like, fair old face ; 

11 How funny," she cried, with a smile and a kiss, 

" To have such a dear little grandma as this ! 

Still," she added, with smiling zest, 

"■ I think, dear grandma, I like you best." 

So May climbed on the silken knee, 

And grandmamma told her history ; 

What plays she played, what toys she had, 

How at times she was naughty, or good, or sad. 

"But the best thing you did," said May, "don't you see 

Was to grow a beautiful grandma for me." 

Standard of the Cross. 



THE BOYS. 77 



THE BOYS. 



" 'TVEE boys are coming home to-morrow : " 

1 This our rural hostess said, 
Whilst Lou and I shot flitting glances, 
Full of vague unspoken dread. 

Had we hither come for quiet, 

Hither fled the city's noise, 
But to change it for the tumult 

Of those horrid country boys ; 

Waking one with wild hallooing 

Early every summer day, 
Shooting robins, teasing kittens, 

Frightening wrens away ; 

Tumbling over trailing flounces, 
Tumbling volumes gold and blue ; 

Clamoring for sugared dainties, 

Tracking earth the passage through ? 

These, and other kindred trials, 

Fancied we with woful sigh ; 
" Those boys, those horrid boys, to-morrow ! " 

Sadly whispered Lou and I. 

I wrote those lines one happy summer ; 

To-day I smile to read them o'er, 
Remembering how full of terror 

We watched all day the opening door. 

They came, the boys, six feet in stature, 

Graceful, easy, polished men ; 
I vowed to Lou, behind my knitting, 

To trust no mother's word again. 



78 YOUNG folks' readings. 

For boyhood is a thing- immortal 
To every mother's heart and eye, 

And sons are boys to her forever, 
Change as they may to you or I. 

To her no line comes sharply marking 
Whither or when their childhood went, 

Nor when the eye-glance upward turning, 
Levelled at last their downward bent ! 

Now, by the window still and sunny, 
Warmed by the rich October glow, 

The dear old lady waits and watches, 
Just as she waited years ago. 

For Lou and I are now her daughters ; 

We married those two country boys, 
In spite of all our sad forebodings 

About their awkward ways and noise. 

Lou springs up to meet a footfall ; 

I list no more for coming feet ; 
Mother and I are waiting longer 

For steps on Beulah's golden street. 

But when she blesses Lou's beloved, 
And seals it with a tender kiss, 

I know that loving thoughts go upward — 
Words to another world than this. 

Always she speaks in gentle fashion 
About " my boys," — she always will, 

Though one is gray, and one has vanished 
Beyond the touch of time or ill. 



POLITICS. 79 



POLITICS. 



BILL MORE and I, in days gone by, 
Were friends the long year through, 
Save when, above the melting snow, 
Wild March his trumpet blew. 

Outspoken foes, we then arose ; 

Each chose a different way ; 
For March, to our New Hampshire hills, 

Brings back town-meeting day. 

Its gingerbread and oranges, 

Alike on Bill and me, 
That day bestowed, but only one 

Could share its victory. 

For what was victory ? We had 

Opposing views of that, 
For Billy was an old line Whig, 

And I a Democrat. 

The tide of politics ran high 

Among the village boys, 
And those were truest patriots 

Who made the greatest noise. 

And who could higher toss his cap, 

Or louder shout than I ? 
Till all the mountain echoes learnt 

My party battle-cry ! 

One time, — it was election morn, — 
Beside the town-house door, 

Among a troop of cheering boys, 
I came on Billy More. 



80 YOUNG folks' headings. 

" Cheer on ! " I called ; "I would not give, 

For your hurrahs, a fig ; 
But say, what do the Whigs believe ? 

Speak, Billy ! you're a Whig." 

And Bill said, " I don't know nor care ; 

You needn't ask me that ; 
You'd better tell me, if you can, 

Why you're a Democrat." 

And I commenced, in bold disdain, — 

" What ? tell you, if I can ? 
I ? Why, my father 's candidate 

For second selectman. 

" And he knows — I know — he knows — he — 

I think — I feel — I — I — 
I — I — I am a Democrat, — - 

And that's the reason why." 

"Ha! ha!" the mocking shout that rose, — 

I seem to hear it now, 
And feel the hot tumultuous blood 

That crimsoned cheek and brow ! 

I might have spared my blushes then, 

I should have kept my shame 
For men, grown men, who fight to-day 

For just a party name ! 

This side or that, they cast their votes, 
And pledge their faith, and why ? 

Go ask, and you will find them wise 
As Billy More and I ! 

Mabion Douglass. 






LITTLE BENNY. 81 



LITTLE BENNY. 

1HAD told him Christmas morning, 
As he sat upon my knee, 
Holding fast "his little stockings, 
Stuffed as full as full could be, 
And attentive listening to me, 

With a face demure and mild, 
That old Santa Claus, who filled them, 
Did not love a naughty child. 

" But we'll be good — won't we, moder ? " 

And from off my lap he slid, 
Digging deep among the goodies 

In the crimson stockings hid ; 
While I turned me to my table, 

Where a tempting goblet stood, 
Brimming high with dainty custard, 

Sent me by a neighbor good. 

But the kitten, there before me, 

With his white paw, nothing loath, 
Sat, by way of entertainment, 

Slapping off the shining froth ; 
And, in not the gentlest humor 

At the loss of such a treat, 
I confess I rather rudely 

Thrust him out into the street. 

Then how Benny's blue eyes kindled ! 
, Gathering up the precious store 
He had busily been pouring 

In his tiny pinafore, 
With a generous look that shamed me, 

Sprang he from the carpet bright, 
Showing by his mien indignant, 
All a baby's sense of right. 
6 



82 YOUNG folks' readings. 

" Come back, Harney," called he loudly, 

As he held his apron white, 
" You shall have my candy wabbit ! " 

But the door was fastened tight ; 
So he stood, abashed and silent, 

In the centre of the floor, 
With defeated look alternate' 

Bent on me and on the door. 

Then as by some sudden impulse 

Quickly ran he to the fire, 
And while eagerly his bright eyes 

Watched the flames go higher and higher, 
In a brave, clear key, he shouted, 

Like some lordly little elf, 
" Santa Kaus, come down de chimney, 

Make my moder 'have herself ! " 

u I will be a good girl, Benny, " 

Said I, feeling the reproof; 
And straightway recalled poor Harney, 

Mewing on the gallery roof. 
Soon the anger was forgotten, 

Laughter chased away the frown, 
And they gambolled 'neath the live-oaks 

Till the dusky night came down. 

In my dim, fire-lighted chamber, 

Harney purred beneath my chair, 
And my play-worn boy beside me, 

Knelt to say his evening prayer : 
" God bess fader, God bess moder, 

God bess sister " — then a pause, 
And the sweet young lips devoutly 

Murmured, "God bess Santa Kaus." 

He is sleeping : brown and silken 
Lie the lashes, long and meek, 



, THE ETERNAL BURDEN. 83 

Like caressing-, clinging shadows 

On his plump and peachy cheek ; 
And I bend above him weeping 

Thankful tears, Undefiled ! 
For a woman's crown of glory, 

For the blessing of a child. 



THE ETEENAL BURDEN. 

A PRINCE in the East had taken a widow's field 
away from her, though she would not sell it to 
him. The widow went to a wise judge, and com- 
plained of her misfortune. The judge arose, took a 
sack, and laid it on his mule. 

So he came to the prince, who was just then in his 
garden adjoining the widow's field. The judge asked 
permission of the prince to fill the sack with earth 
from the poor woman's field, as a keepsake for her. 
The prince granted it, and said, — 

« Why has the woman been so foolish as not to sell 
me the field ? Now she is punished for her folly." 

When the judge had filled the sack, he asked the 
prince to help him lift it upon the mule's back. The 
prince tried it, but said at once, — 

" The sack is too heavy for me." 

Then said the judge, with great earnestness, — 

" If this sack full of earth is so heavy even now, how 
heavily will the whole field weigh upon you through- 
out eternity ? " 

This thought made the prince afraid, and he gave 
the widow back her field. 



84 YOUNG folks' readings. 



LETTING THE OLD CAT DIE. 

NOT long ago I wandered near 
A playground in the wood, 
And there heard words from a youngster's lips 
That I've never quite understood. 

'• Now let the old cat die," he laughed ; 

I saw him give a push, 
Then gayly scamper away, as he espied 

A face peep over the bush. 

But what he pushed, or where he went, 

I could not well make out, 
On account of the thicket of bending boughs 

That bordered the place about. 

" The little villain has stoned a cat, 

Or hung it upon a limb, 
And left it to die all alone/' I said, 

'.' But I'll play the mischief with him." 

I forced my way through the boughs 

The poor old cat to seek, 
And what did I find but a swinging child 

With her bright hair brushing her cheek. 

Her bright hair floated to and fro, 

Her little red dress flashed by ; 
But the loveliest thing of all, I thought, 

Was the gleam of her laughing eye. 

Swinging and swinging back and forth, 

With the rose-light in her face, 
She seemed like a bird and flower in one, 

And the forest her native place. 



THE WIVES OF BRIXHAM. 85 



1 



" Steady ! I'll send you up, my child 

But she stopped me with a cry : 
" Go 'way ! go 'way ! don't touch me, please ; 

I'm letting the old cat die." 

" You're letting him die ! " I cried, aghast ; 

" Why, where's the cat, my dear ? " 
And lo ! the laugh that filled the wood 

Was a thing for the birds to hear. 

" Why, don't you know/' said the little maid, 

The sparkling, beautiful elf, 
" That we call letting the old cat die 

When the swing stops all itself? " 

Then swinging and swinging, and looking back, 
With the merriest look in her eye, 

She bade me good by, and I left her alone 
Letting the old cat die. 



THE WIYES OF BRIXHAM. 

YOU see the gentle water, 
How silently it floats ; 
How cautiously, how steadily, 
It moves the sleepy boats ; 
And all the little loops of pearl 

It strews along the sand, 

Steal out as leisurely as leaves 

When summer is at hand. 

But you know it can be angry, 
And thunder from its rest, 

When the stormy taunts of winter 
Are flying at its breast ; 



YOUNG FOLKS' READINGS. 

And if you like to listen, 

And draw your chairs around, 
I'll tell you what it did one night 

When you were sleeping sound. 

The merry boats of Brixham 

Go out to search the seas ; 
A stanch and sturdy fleet are they, 

That like a swinging breeze ; 
And before the woods of Devon, 

And the silver cliffs of Wales, 
You may see, when summer evenings fall, 

The light upon their sails. 

But when the year grows darker, 

And gray winds hunt the foam, 
They go back to Little Brixham, 

And ply their toil at home. 
And thus it chanced one winter's night, 

When a storm began to roar, 
That all the men were out at sea, 

And all the wives on shore. 

Then as the wind grew fiercer, 

The women's cheeks grew white, — 
It was fiercer in the twilight, 

And fiercest in the night. 
The strong clouds set themselves like ice 

Without a star to melt, 
The blackness of the darkness 

Was darkness to be felt. 

The storm, like an assassin, 

Went on its wicked way, 
And struck a hundred boats adrift, 

To reel about the bay. 
They meet, they crash! — God keep the men! 

God give a moment's light ! 



THE WIVES OF BRIXHAM. 87 

There is nothing but the tumult, 
And the tempest, and the night. 

The men on shore were anxious, — 

They dreaded what they knew ; 
What do you think the women did ? 

Love taught them what to do ! 
Outspoke a wife : "We've beds at home, 

We'll burn them for a light, — 
Give us the men and the bare ground ! 

We want no more to-night." 

They took the grandame's blanket, 

Who shivered and bade them go ; 
They took the baby's pillow, 

Who could not say them no ; 
And they heaped a great fire on the pier, 

And knew not all the while 
If they were heaping a bonfire, 

Or only a funeral pile. 

And, fed with precious food, the flame 

Shone bravely on the black, 
Till a cry rang through the people, 

" A boat is coming back ! " 
Staggering dimly through the fog, 

Come shapes of fear and doubt ; 
But when the first prow strikes the pier, 

Cannot you hear them shout ? 

Then all along the breadth of flame 

Dark figures shrieked and ran, 
With, " Child, here comes your father ! " 

Or, " Wife, is this your man ? " 
And faint feet touch the welcome stone, 

And wait a little while ; 
And kisses drop from frozen lips, 

Too tired to speak or smile. 



88 YOUNG folks' readings. 

So, one by one, they struggled in, 

All that the sea would spare ; 
We will not reckon through our tears 

The names that were not there ; 
But some went home without a bed, 

When all the tale was told, 
Who were too cold with sorrow 

To know the night was cold. 

And this is what the men must do 

Who work in wind and foam ; 
And this is what the women bear 

Who watch for them at home. 
So when you see a Brixham boat 

Go out to face the gales, 
Think of the love that travels 

Like light upon her sails. 



CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS. 

THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED AMERICA TWO POINTS OFF 
THE PORT BOW. 

ONE day, in his garden, he observed an apple falling 
from its tree, whereupon a conviction flashed sud- 
denly through his mind that the earth was round. 

By breaking the shell of an egg, and making it stand 
on end at the dinner-table, he demonstrated that he 
could sail due west, and in course of time arrive at 
another hemisphere. 

He started a line of emigrant packets from Palos, 
Spain, and landed at Philadelphia, where he walked 
up Market Street with a loaf of bread under each arm. 
The simple-hearted natives took him out to see their 
new park. 



. CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS. 89 

On his second voyage, Columbus was barbarously 
murdered at the Sandwich Islands, or, rather, would 
have been but for the intervention of Pocahontas, 
a lovely maiden, romantically fond of distressed 
travellers. 

After this little incident he went west, where his 
intrepidity and masterly financial talent displayed 
itself in the success with which he acquired land and 
tobacco without paying for them. 

As the savages had no railroad of which they could 
make him president, they ostracized him — sent him 
to the Island of St. Helena. 

But the spirit of discovery refused to be quenched ; 
and the next year we find him landing at Plymouth 
Rock in a blinding snow-storm. It was here that he 
shot an apple from his son's head. 

To this universal genius are we indebted also for 
the exploration of the sources of the Nile, and for an 
unintelligible, but correspondingly valuable, scientific 
report of a visit to the valley of the Yellowstone. 

He took no side in our late unhappy war ; but dur- 
ing the Revolution, he penetrated with a handful of 
the Garde Mobile into the mountain fastnesses of 
Minnesota, where he won that splendid series of vic- 
tories, which, beginning with Guilford Court House, 
terminated in the glorious storming of Chapultepec. 

Ferdinand and Isabella rewarded him with chains. 
Genoa, his native city, gave him a statue, and Boston 
has named in his honor one of her proudest avenues. 

One day he rushed from the bath, exclaiming, 
" Eureka ! " and the presumption is, that he was 
right. 



90 YOUNG folks' readings. 



THE PUZZLED CENSUS-TAKER. 

" f^OT any boys ? " the marshal said 
VJ To a lady from over the Rhine ; 

And the lady shook her flaxen head, 
And civilly answered, " Nine 1 v * 

» 
" Got any girls ? " the marshal said 
To the lady from over the Rhine ; 
*And again the lady shook her head, 
And civilly answered, " Nine I " 

" But some are dead ? " the marshal said 
To the lady from over the Rhine ; 

And again the lady shook her head, 
And civilly answered, " Nine! " 

** Husband, of course ? " the marshal said 
To the lady from over the Rhine ; 

And again she shook her flaxen head, 
And civilly answered, "Nine!" 

" The d — 1 you have ! " the marshal said 
To the lady from over the Rhine ; 

And again she shook her flaxen head, 
And civilly answered, "Nine!" 

" Now what do you mean by shaking your head, 
And always answering ' Nine? ' " 

" Ich kann nicht Englich!" civilly said 
The lady from over the Rhine. 

John G. Saxe. 
* Nein, pronounced Nine, is the German for " No ! " 



LINGERING LATIMER. 91 



TRUTH. 

BE true, be true ! whatever beside, 
Of wit or wealth, or rank be thine, 
Unless with simple truth allied, 

The gold that glitters in thy mine 
Is only dross, the brass of pride, 
Or vainer tinsel, made to shine. 

Be true, be true ! to nerve your arm 

For any good ye wish to do ; 
To save yourselves from sin and harm, 

And win all honors old and new ; 
To work on hearts as with a charm, — 

The maxim is, Be true, be true ! 

Be true, be true ! that easy prize 

So lovable to human view, 
So laudable beyond the skies, 

Alas ! is reached by very few — 
The simple ones, though more than wise, — 

Whose motto is, Be true, be true ! 

M. F. TUPPEE. 



LINGERING LATIMER. 

LINGERING LATIMER lived up a tree, 
Just like a sloth ! 
Slackest and slowest of slow boys was he, 
Lazy and loth ! 

He kept a pet tortoise, and that had the gout, — 

A very poor goer ; 
And Lingering Latimer, when they went out 

For a walk, was the slower ! 



92 YOUNG folks' readings. 

There was nothing about him would run — not his nose, 

We are told ! 
But the secret of that was (it's under the rose), 

He could not catch — cold ! 

In his prospects we cannot but own there is hope 






Of a sort : 
He may live by performing upon the slack rope, 
And can never run — short 1 



ODE TO SPRING. 

WRITTEN IN A LAWYER'S OFFICE. 

WHEREAS, on sundry boughs and sprays, 
Now divers birds are heard to sing, 
And sundry flowers their heads upraise, — 
Hail to the coming on of Spring ! 

The birds aforesaid, happy pairs ! 

Love midst the aforesaid boughs enshrines, 
In household nests, themselves, their heirs, 

Administrators, and assigns. 

The songs of the said birds arouse 
The memory of our youthful hours, 

As young and green as the said boughs, 
As fresh and fair as the said flowers. 

0, busiest term of Cupid's court ! 

When tender plaintiffs actions bring ; 
Season of frolic and of sport, 

Hail, as aforesaid, coming Spring ! 



ROBERT OF LINCOLN. 93 



ROBERT OF LINCOLN. 

MERRILY swinging on brier and weed, 
Near to the nest of his little dame, 
Over the mountain-side or mead, 

Robert of Lincoln is telling his name — 

" Bob-o-link, bob-o-link, spink, spank, spink. 
Snug and safe is that nest of ours, 
Hidden among the summer flowers : 
Chee, chee, chee." 

Robert of Lincoln is gayly dressed, 

Wearing a bright black wedding coat ; 
White are his shoulders and white' his crest, 
Hear him call in his merry note — 

" Bob-o-link, bob-o-link, spink, spank, spink. 
Look what a nice new coat is mine, 
Sure there was never a bird so fine. 
Chee, chee, chee." 

Robert of Lincoln's Quaker wife, 

Pretty and quiet, with plain brown wings, 
Passing at home a patient life, 

Broods in the grass while her husband sings — 
"Bob-o-link, bob-o-link, spink, spank, spink. 
Brood, kind creature, 3 r ou need not fear 
Thieves and robbers while I am here. 
Chee, chee, chee." 

Modest and shy as a nun is she, 

One weak chirp her only note ; 
Braggart and prince of braggarts is he, 
Pouring boasts from his little throat — 

" Bob-o-link, bob-o-link, spink, spank, spink. 
Never was I afraid of man ; 
Catch me, cowardly knaves, if you can. 
Chee, chee, chee." 



94 YOUNG FOLKS' readings. 

Six white eggs on a bed of hay, 

Flecked with purple, a pretty sight ! 
There, as the mother sits all day, 

Robert is singing with all his might — 

" Bob-o-liDk, bob-o-link, spink, spank, spink, 
Nice good wife, that never goes out, 
Keeping house while I frolic about. 
Chee, chee, chee." 

Soon as the little ones chip the shell, 
Six wide mouths are open for food ; 
Robert of Lincoln bestirs him well, 

Gathering seeds for the hungry brood — 

" Bob-o-link, bob-o-link, spink, spank, spink ; 
This new life is likely to be 
Hard for a gay young fellow like me. 
Chee, chee, chee. 7 ' 

Robert of Lincoln at length is made 

Sober with work, and silent with care ; 
Off is his holiday garment laid, 
Half forgotten that merry air — 

" Bob-o-link, bob-o-link, spink, spank, spink ; 
Nobody knows but my mate and I 
Where our nest and nestlings lie. 
Chee, chee, chee." 

Summer wanes ; the children are grown ; 

Fun and frolic no more he knows ; 
Robert of Lincoln's a humdrum crone ; 
Off he flies, and we sing as he goes — 

" Bob-o-link, bob-o-link, spink, spank, spink ; 
When you can pipe that merry old strain, 
Robert of Lincoln, come back again : 

Chee, chee, chee." bkyant. 



AT SEA. 95 



AT SEA. 



THE night is made for cooling shade, 
For silence, and for sleep ; 
And when I was a child, I laid 
My hands upon my breast, and prayed, 

And sank to slumbers deep. 
Childlike as then, I lie to-night, 
And watch my lonely cabin light. 

Each movement of the swaying lamp 

Shows how the vessel reels ; 
As o'er her deck the billows tramp, 
And all her timbers strain and cramp 

With every shock she feels, 
It starts and shudders, while it burns, 
And in its hinged socket turns. 



Now swinging slow, and slanting low, 

It almost level lies ; 
And yet I know, while to and fro 
I watch the seeming pendule go 

With restless fall and rise, 
The steady shaft is still upright, 
Poising its little globe of light. 



0, hand of God ! 0, lamp of peace ! 

0, promise of my soul ! — 
Though weak, and tossed, and ill at 
Amid the roar of smiting seas, 

The ship's convulsive roll, 
I own, with love and tender awe, 
Yon perfect type of faith and law ! 



96 



A heavenly trust my spirit calms, 

My soul is filled with light : 
The ocean sings his solemn psalms, 
The wild winds chant : I cross my palmp, 

Happy as if, to-night, ' 
Under the cottage-roof, again 
I heard the soothing summer-rain. 

J. T. Teowbeidgb. 



THE SHADOW ON THE BLIND. 

MR. FERDINAND PLUM was a grocer by trade ; 
By attention and tact he a fortune had made ; 
No tattler, nor maker of mischief, was he, 
But as honest a man as you'd e'er wish to see. 
Of a chapel, close by, he was deacon, they say, 
And his minister lived just over the way. 



Mr. Plum was retiring to rest one night, 
He had just undressed and put out the light, 

And pulled back the blind 

As he peeped from behind 
('Tis a custom with many to do so you'll find), 

When, glancing his eye, 

He happened to spy 
On the blinds on the opposite side — 0, fie ! 
Two shadows ; each movement of course he could see, 
And the people were quarrelling evidently. 
" Well, I never ! " said Plum, as he witnessed the strife, 
" I declare, 'tis the minister beating his wife ! " 
The minister held a thick stick in his hand, 
And his wife ran away as he shook the brand, 
While her shrieks and cries were quite shocking to hear, 
And the sounds came across most remarkably clear. 



-THE SHADOW ON THE BLIND. 97 

" Well, things are deceiving, 

But — - seeing's believing,' " 
Said Plum to himself, as he turned into bed ; 

" Now, who would have thought 

That man would have fought 
And beaten his wife on her shoulders and head 

With a great big stick, 

At least three inches thick ? 
I am sure her shrieks quite filled me with dread. 

I've a great mind to bring 

The whole of the thing 
Before the church members ; but, no, I have read 
A proverb, which says, ' Least said soonest mended/ " 
And thus Mr. Plum's mild soliloquy ended. 

But, alas ! Mr. Plum's eldest daughter, Miss Jane, 
Saw the whole of the scene, and could not refrain 
From telling Miss Spot, and Miss Spot told again 
(Though of course in strict confidence) every one 
Whom she happened to know, what the parson had done. 
So the news spread abroad, and soon reached the ear 
Of the parson himself, and he traced it, I hear, 
To the author, Miss Jane. Jane could not deny, 
But at the same time she begged leave to defy 
The parson to prove she had uttered a lie. 

A church meeting was called : Mr. Plum made a speech. 
He said, " Friends, pray listen a while, I beseech. ' 
What my daughter has said is most certainly true, 
For I saw the whole scene on the same evening, too : 
But, not .wishing to make an unpleasantness rife, 
I did not tell either my daughter or wife. 
But, of course, as Miss Jane saw the whole of the act, 
I think it but right to attest to the fact." 
" ? Tis remarkably strange ! " the parson replied : 
" It is plain Mr. Plum must something have spied ; 
7 



98 YOUNG folks' readings. 

Though the wife-beating story, of course, is denied : 

And in that I can say I am grossly belied.' 7 

While he ransacks his brain, and ponders, and tries 

To recall any scene that could ever give rise 

To so monstrous a charge, just then his wife cries, 

" I have it, my love ; you remember that night 

When I had such a horrible, terrible fright. 

We both were retiring that evening to rest — 

I was seated, my dear, and but partly undressed — 

When a horrid old rat jumped close to my feet ; 

My shrieking was heard, I suppose, in the street ; 

You caught up the poker, and ran round the room, 

And at last knocked the rat, and so sealed its doom. 

Our shadows, my love, must have played on the blind ; 

And this is the mystery solved you will find.' 7 

Moral. 

Don't believe every tale that is handed about ; 

We have all enough faults and real failings, without 

Being burdened with those of which there's a doubt. 



THE PORTRAITS. 

A PAINTER, who wanted a picture of Innocence, 
drew the likeness of a child at prayer. The 
little suppliant was kneeling by the side of his mother, 
who regarded him with tenderness. The palms of his 
lifted hands were reverently pressed together; his 
rosy cheeks spoke of health, and his mild, blue eye 
was upturned with an expression of devotion and 
peace. 

This portrait of young Rupert was highly prized by 
the painter ; for he had bestowed on it great pains : he 
hungntLjip in his study, and called it Innocence. 



THE PORTRAITS. 99 

Years rolled along, and the painter became an aged 
man ; but the picture of Innocence still adorned his 
study walls. Often had he thought of painting a con- 
trast to his favorite portrait ; but opportunity had not 
served. He had sought for a striking model of guilt ; 
but had failed to find one. At last he effected his pur- 
pose by paying a visit to a neighboring jail. 

On the damp floor of his dungeon lay a wretched 
culprit, named Randal, heavily ironed. Wasted was 
his body, worn was his cheek, and anguish unutterable 
was seen in his hollow eye ; but this was not all. Yice 
was visible in his face, guilt was branded, as with a 
hot iron, and horrid imprecations burst from his blas- 
pheming tongue. 

The painter executed the task to the life, and bore 
away the successful effort of his pencil. The portraits 
of young Rupert and old Randal were hung, side by 
side, in his study ; the one representing Innocence and 
the other Guilt. 

But who was young Rupert, who kneeled in prayer 
by the side of his mother in meek devotion ? And 
who was old Randal, who lay manacled on the dun- 
geon floor, cursing and blaspheming ? Alas, the two 
were one ! Young Rupert and old Randal were the 
same. Led by bad companions into the paths of sin, 
no wonder that young Rupert found bitterness and 
sorrow. 

Weh\may youth and age walk humbly before God, 
putting up the prayer, " Keep me as the apple of the 
eye, hide me under the shadow of thy wings." 



LofC. 



100 YOUNG FOLKS' READINGS. 



THE THREE WARNINGS. 

THE tree of deepest root is found 
Least willing still to quit the ground ; 
'Twas therefore said by ancient sages 

That love of life increased with years, 
So much, that in our latter stages, 
When pains grow sharp, and sickness rages, 

The greatest love of life appears. 
This great affection to believe, 
Which all confess, but few perceive, 
If old assertions can't prevail, 
Be pleased to hear a modern tale. 

When sports went round, and all were gay, 
On neighbor Dobson's wedding day, 
Death called aside the jocund groom 
With him into another room, 
And looking grave, " You must," says he, 
" Quit your sweet bride, and come with me." 
" With you ! and quit my Susan's side ? 
With you ? " the hapless husband cried ; 
" Young as I am, 'tis monstrous hard ! 
Besides, in truth, I'm not prepared ; 
My thoughts on other matters go ; 
This is my wedding da}', you know." 
What more he urged I have not heard, 

His reasons could not well be stronger ; 
So Death the poor delinquent spared, 

And left to live a little longer. 
Yet, calling up a serious look, — 
His hour-glass trembled while he spoke, — 
" Neighbor," he said, " farewell ; no more 
Shall Death disturb your mirthful hour ; 
And, farther, to avoid all blame 
Of cruelty upon my name, 



THE THREE WARNINGS. 101 

To give you time for preparation, 
And fit you for your future station, 
Three several warnings you shall have 
Before you're summoned to the grave : 
Willing, for once, I'll quit my prey, 

And grant a kind reprieve, 
In hopes you'll have no more to say, 
But, when I call again this way, 

Well pleased the world will leave." 
To these conditions both consented, 
And parted perfectly contented. 

What next the hero of our tale befell, 
How long he lived, how wise, how well, 
How roundly he pursued his course, 
And smoked his pipe, and stroked his horse, 

The willing Muse shall tell : 
He chaffered then, he bought, he sold, 
Nor once perceived his growing old, 

Nor thought of Death as near ; 
His friends not false, his wife no shrew, 
Many his gains, his children few, 

He passed his hours in peace. 
But while he viewed his wealth increase, 
While thus along life's dusty road 
The beaten track content he trode, 
Old Time, whose haste no mortal spares, 
Uncalled, unheeded, unawares, 

Brought on his eightieth year. 
And now one night, in musing mood, 

As all alone he sate, 

The unwelcome messenger of fate 
Once more before him stood. 
Half killed with anger and surprise, 
" So soon returned ? " old Dobson cries. 
" So soon, d'ye call it ? " Death replies ; 
" Surely, my friend, you're but in jest ! 

Since I was here before 



102 YOUNG folks' readings. 

; Tis six and forty years at least, 

And you are now fourscore ! " 
" So much the worse/ 7 the clown rejoined ; 
" To spare the aged would be kind ; 
Besides, you promised me Three Warnings, 
Which I have looked for nights and mornings ! " 
" I know," cries Death, " that at the best, 
I seldom am a welcome guest ; 
But don't be captious, friend, at least : 
I little thought you'd still be able 
To stump about your farm and stable ; 
Your years have run to a great length : 
I wish you joy, though, of your strength ! " 
" Hold," says the farmer, " not so fast ! 
I have been lame these four years past. 7 ' 
". And no great wonder," Death replies : 
" However, you still keep your eyes, 
And sure, to see one's loves and friends, 
For legs and arms must make amends." 
'■' Perhaps," says Dobson, "so it might, 
But latterly I've lost my sight." 
" This is a shocking story, faith : 
But there's some comfort still," says Death. 
" Each strives your sadness to amuse ; 
I warrant you hear all the news." 
" There's none," cried he : and if there were 
I'm grown so deaf, I could not hear." 
" Nay, then," the spectre stern rejoined, 

" Cease, prythee, cease these foolish yearnings; 
If you are deaf, and lame, and blind, 

You've had your three sufficient warnings ; 
So come along ! no more we'll part," 
He said, and touched him with his dart. 
And now old Dobson, turning pale, 
Yields to his fate. So ends my tale. 

Mks. Thkale. 



DER BABY. 103 



DER BABY. 



SO help me gracious, efery day 
I laugh me wild to see der vay 
My schmall young baby drie to play — 
Dot funny leetle baby. 

Vhen I look on dhem leetle toes, 
Und saw dot funny leetle nose, 
Und heard der vay dot rooster crows, 
I schmile like I was grazy. 

Und vhen I heard der real nice vay 
Dhem beoples to my wife dhey say, 
" More like his fater every day," 
I vas so proud like blazes. 

Sometimes dhere comes a leetle schquall, 
Dot's vhen der vindy vind vill crawl 
Righd in its leetle schtomach schmall, — 
Dot's too bad for der baby. 

Dot makes him sing at night so schveet, 
Und gorrybarric he must eat, 
Und I must chump shpry on my feet, 
To help dot leetle baby. 

He bulls my nose and kicks my hair, 
Und grawls me ofer everywhere, 
Und shlobbers me — but vat I care ? 

Dot vas my schmall young baby. 

Around my -head dot leetle arm 
Vas schqueezin me so nice and varm — 
! may dhere never coom some harm 
To dot schmall leetle baby. 



104 YOUNG folks' readings. 



"GUILTY OR NOT GUILTY?" 

SHE stood at the bar of justice, 
A creature wan and wild, 
In form too small for a woman, 
In feature too old for a child ; 
For a look so worn and pathetic 

Was stamped on her pale young face, 
It seemed long years of suffering 
Must have left that silent trace. 

" Your name," said the judge, as he eyed her, 

With kindly look, yet keen, 
"Is — " " Mary Maguire, if you please, sir." 

" And your age ? " "I am turned fifteen." 
" Well, Mary," — and then from a paper 

He slowly and gravely read, — 
" You are charged here — I am sorry to say it — 

With stealing three loaves of bread. 

" You look not like an offender, 

And I hope that you can show 
The charge to be false. Now, tell me, 

Are you guilty of this, or no ? " 
A passionate burst of weeping 

Was at first her sole reply ; 
But she dried her tears in a moment, 

And looked in the judge's eye. 

" I will tell you just how it was, sir ; 

My father and mother are dead, 
And my little brothers and sisters 

Were hungry, and asked me for bread. 
At first I earned it for them, 

By working hard all day, 
But somehow the times were hard, sir, 

And the work all fell away. 



" GUILTY OR NOT GUILTY?" 105 

" I could get no more employment ; 

The weather was bitter cold : 
The young ones cried and shivered 

(Little Johnnie's but four years old) ; — 
So what was I to do, sir ? 

I am guilty, but do not condemn ; 
I took — ! was it stealing ? 

The bread to give to them." 

Every man in the court-room — 

Graybeard and thoughtless youth — 
Knew, as he looked upon her, 

That the prisoner spake the truth. 
Out from their pockets came kerchiefs, 

Out from their eyes sprung tears, 
And out from old, faded wallets 

Treasures hoarded for years. 

The judge's face was a study, 

The strangest, you ever saw, 
As he cleared his throat and murmured 

Something about the law. 
For one so learned in such matters, 

So wise in dealing with men, 
He seemed, on a simple question, 

Sorely puzzled just then. 

But no one blamed him, or wondered 
When at last these words they heard : 

" The sentence of this young prisoner 
Is for the present deferred." 

And no one blamed him or wondered 
, When he went to her and smiled, 

And tenderly led from the court-room, 
Himself, the " guilty " child ! 



106 



MY BALLOON ASCENT. 

IT was in one of my balloon ascents, and a gentle- 
man named Smith had engaged himself to be my 
companion ; but when the time came his nerve failed, 
and I looked round in vain for the person who was to 
occupy the vacant seat in the car. Having waited till 
the last possible moment, and the crowd becoming 
impatient, I prepared to ascend alone. The last cord 
that attached me to the earth was about to be cast 
off, when suddenly a gentleman pushed forward and 
volunteered to go with me. He pressed the request 
with so much earnestness, that, having received his 
promise to submit in every point to my directions, I 
consented to receive him in lieu of the absentee ; 
whereupon he sprang with alacrity into the car. In 
another minute we were rising above the trees ; and, 
in justice to my companion, I must say I never saw 
any one exhibit greater coolness and self-possession. 
The stranger was as composed as if he had been 
sitting at home in his easy arm-chair. A bird could 
not have seemed more in its element ; and yet he 
solemnly assured me that he had never been in a 
balloon before. Instead of evincing any alarm at our 
great height from the earth, he expressed the liveliest 
pleasure whenever I emptied one or two bags of sand, 
and he even urged me to part with more of the bal- 
last. In the mean while the wind carried us quietly 
along, and the day being particularly clear, we enjoyed 
a delightful bird's-eye view of the great metropolis 
and the surrounding country. My companion listened 
with great interest, while I pointed out to him the 



MY BALLOON ASCENT. 107 

various objects over which we passed, till I happened 
casually to observe that the balloon must be directly 
over Hoxton. My fellow-traveller then, for the first 
time, betrayed some uneasiness, and anxiously asked 
whether I thought he could be recognized by any one 
at our then distance from the earth. I told him it was 
quite impossible. Nevertheless, he continued very 
uneasy, frequently saying, " I hope they don't see 
me/' and entreating me earnestly to let go more bal- 
last. I said, " Do you live at Hoxton f" He said, 
" Yes, yes," and urged me again, and with great 
vehemence, to empty the remaining sand-bags. This, 
however, was out of the question, considering the 
height of the balloon, the course of the wind, and the 
proximity of the sea- coast. But my comrade was deaf 
to these reasons ; he insisted on going higher ; and on 
my firmly refusing to let go more ballast, he deliber- 
ately pulled off, and threw his hat, coat, and waistcoat 
overboard. "Huzza! that lightened her!" he shouted. 
" But it's not enough yet ; " and he began to untie his 
cravat. "Nonsense," said T, "my good fellow; nobody 
can recognize you at this distance, even with a tel- 
escope." " Don't be too sure of that," he sharply 
retorted ; " they have sharp eyes at Miles's." " At 
where ? " said I. " At Miles's Madhouse," shouted he. 
Then the truth flashed upon me in an instant : I was 
sitting in the frail car of a balloon, literally in the 
clouds, with a lunatic ! The horrors of the situation 
for a moment seemed to deprive me of my senses. A 
sudden freak, a transient fury, a single struggle, would 
send both of us into eternity ! In the mean while the 
maniac, having divested himself successively of shoes, 
stockings, trousers, and everything, threw each to the 



108 YOUNG FOLKS 7 READINGS. 

winds, repeating his insane cry, " Higher ! higher ! 
higher ! " I remained perfectly silent. But judge 
of my terror when, having thrown his shirt over- 
board, he solemnly said, " We are not yet high enough 
by a thousand miles ; one of us must throw out the 
other." To describe my feelings at this speech would 
be simply impossible. Cold as the atmosphere felt, 
intensely cold, yet great beads of perspiration rolled 
off from me. It was horrible ! horrible ! Words, 
remonstrances, prayers, were useless. I had better 
have been unarmed in the wilderness, surrounded by 
wild Indians. I saw the lunatic deliberately heave 
the one, and then the other, bag of ballast from the 
car, the balloon, of course, rising with proportionate 
rapidity. Up, up, up it soared, to an altitude I dared 
not contemplate. Earth was lost to my eyes, and huge 
clouds rolled beneath us. I felt the world was gone 
forever. 

" Have you a wife and children ? " he asked, ab- 
ruptly. 

I replied that I had a dear wife and six little ones 
depending on me for their bread. 

u Ha ! ha ! J? laughed the maniac, with a thrill that 
chilled the very marrow in my bones. " I have three 
hundred and sixty-five wives, and five thousand and 
eighty children, and if you did not make this balloon 
so heavy I should have been home with them long 
ago." 

" And where do they live ? " I asked, anxious to gain 
time by any question that first occurred to me. 

" In the moon ! " replied the maniac. " And when 
I have lightened this car once more I shall be there in 
no time ! " 



MRS. JUNE'S PROSPECTUS. 109 

I heard no more — he suddenly sprang upon me. 
and throwing his arms round me, grasped me round 
the body, when — I awoke, and found it was a night- 
mare ! And hoping that none of you may have such 
a one, we wish you " Good night, and pleasant 
dreams." 



MES. JUNE'S PROSPECTUS. 

MES. JUNE is ready for school, 
Presents her kind regard, 
And for measures and rule 
Eefers to the following 

Card. 

To Parents and Friends : 
Mrs. June, 
Of the firm of Summer and Sun, 
Announces the opening of her school 
(Established in the year One). 

An unlimited number is received ; 

There is nothing at all to pay ; 
All that is asked is a merry heart, 

And time enough to be gay. 

The Junior class will bring, 

In lieu of all supplies, 
Eight little fingers and two thumbs 

For the making of pretty sand pies. 

The Senior class, a mouth 
For strawberries and cream ; 

A nose apiece for a rose apiece, 
And a tendency to dream. 



110 YOUNG FOLKS' READINGS. 

The lectures are thus arranged : 

Professor Cherry Tree 
Will lecture to the climbing class ; 

Terms of instruction — free. 

Professor De Forrest Spring 

Will take the class in drink, 
And the class in titillation 

Sage Mr. Bobolink. 

Young Mr. Oxeye Daisy 

Will demonstrate each day 
On " botany," on " native plants," 

And " the properties of hay." 

Miss Nature the class in fun 

(A charming class to teach) ; 
And the swinging class and the bird's-nest class 

Miss Hickory and Miss Beech. 

And the sleepy class at night, 

And the dinner class at noon, 
And the fat, and laugh, and roses class, 

They fall to Mrs. June. 

And she hopes her little friends 

Will be punctual as the sun, 
For the term, alas ! is very short, 

And she wants them every one. 

Susan Coolidge. 



THE KING OF DENMARK'S RIDE. Ill 



THE KING OF DENMARK'S RIDE. 

WORD was brought to the Danish king-, 
(Hurry !) 
That the love of his heart lay sufferings 
And pined for the comfort his voice would bring 

(0, ride as if you were flying !) 
Better he loves each golden curl, 
On the brow of that Scandinavian girl, 
Than his rich crown-jewels of ruby and pearl ; 
And his Rose of the Isles is dying. 



Thirty nobles saddled with speed ; 

(Hurry !) 
Each one mounted a gallant steed, 
Which he kept for battle and days of need ; 

(0, ride as though you were flying !) 
Spurs were stuck in the foaming flank, 
Worn-out chargers staggered and sank ; 
Bridles were slackened, and girths were burst ; 
But, ride as they would, the king rode first, 

For his Rose of the Isles lay dying. 



His nobles are beaten, one by one ; 

(Hurry !) 
They have fainted, and faltered, and hemeward gone ; 
The little fair page now follows alone, 

For strength and for courage trying. 
The king looked back at that faithful child ; 
Wan was the face that answering smiled. 
They passed the drawbridge with clattering din, 
Then he dropped, and only the king rode in 

Where his Rose of the Isles lay dying. 



112 YOUNG FOLKS' READINGS. 

The king blew a blast on his bugle-horn : 

(Silence !) 
No answer came, but faint and forlorn 
An echo returned on the cold, gray morn, 

Like the breath of a spirit sighing. 
The castle portal stood grimly wide ; 
None welcomed the king from that weary ride ! 
For, dead in the light of the dawning day, 
The pale, sweet form of the welcomer lay, 

Who had yearned for his voice in dying. 

The panting steed, with a drooping crest, 

Stood weary ; 
The king returned from the chamber of rest, 
The thick sobs choking in his breast, — 

And that dumb companion eyeing ; 
The tears gushed forth, which he strove to check ; 
He bowed his head on the charger's neck, — 
" steed, that every nerve didst strain, — 
Dear steed ! our ride hath been in vain 

To the halls where my love lay dying. 

Caroline E. Norton. 



THE FORGET-ME-NOT. 

WHEN God had created all the flowers, and had 
given them roots, stems, and leaves, he also 
painted them very beautifully in many colors, and 
gave each of them a name. One flower that was very 
fragrant, and had many pink leaves, he called a Rose. 
Another little flower, with five purple leaves, he called 
a Yiolet. Another, with little snow-white bells, he 
called Lily of the Valley, and a large flower, with 



THE FOKGET-ME-NOT. 113 

many yellow leaves, like sun-rays, he called Sun- 
flower. 

Each flower went away to its own home, and was 
very happy, and each one spoke its name slowly as it 
went, so that it might not forget it. Only one tiny 
flower, with a dress as clear and blue as the sky over- 
head, stood close by the brook, and was very sorrow- 
ful. Many, many tears dropped out of its eyes be- 
cause it had forgotten its name. 

But God had seen the little flower's sorrow, and he 
knew why it wept. So he lovingly dried its tears, 
and said, " Weep no more, little flower. I will for- 
give you that you have forgotten your name, and I 
will give you a new name which you can easily re- 
member. You might forget your own name some- 
times, but you must never forget my name ; and so, 
to remind you of this, I will call you * Forget-me- 
not. 7 " 

Then the little blue flower was very glad. It looked 
so cheerful and trusting that everybody who saw it 
loved it. And so it is to this very day. And to every 
one its tiny voice says, — 

"The Lord above, who made my dress, 
So beautiful and blue, 
Who sends the blessed sunshine down, 

And the refreshing dew, 
Through me speaks to each little one, 
' Be thankful for your lot ; 
. Think who sends down each perfect gift, 
And O, " forget-me-not ! " '" 
8 



114 YOUNG FOLKS' READINGS. 



THE LITTLE HEADER. 

A HARD, stern man upon a sick bed lay, 
More and more feeble with each passing day ; 
No hallowing- gleam of heavenly peace was there — 
No ray of love divine — no breath of prayer. 

Kind Christian friends, on holiest mission bent, 
Came bright and hopeful, — • sad and anxious went. 
Harder and sterner still the Atheist grew ; 
The flinty heart no answering softness knew. 

Angry, at last, at each persistent call, 
With firm refusal he defied them all ; 
The Saviour's sacred name he would not hear, 
His loving words could find no listening ear. 

" Wife ! fetch the blackboard — and a bit of chalk ! 
One way remains to stop this senseless talk ; 
I will write something, which is truth indeed, 
And have it placed where every one may read." 

The thin, weak hand, that scarce the chalk could hold, 
Wrote " GOD IS NOWHERE ; " large, and clear, and bold. 
That fearful sentence met his waking sight, 
In wretched mockery, by day and night. 

Time crept along — hour after hour passed o'er, 
While the death-angel still his touch forbore ; 
Lower and lower burned the flickering flame, 
And, slower yet, the fitful pulses came. 

Then, happier change repaid the anxious view, 
And hope, so long denied, sprang forth anew ; 
Through every vein a fuller current flowed, 
And Heaven once more the gift of life bestowed. 



THE LITTLE HEADER. 115 

Soon the fond father sought his banished child, 
Who erst, with prattle sweet, his heart beguiled ; 
Charmed to come back, she told her little news, 
And showed her "nice new gown and pretty shoes." 

" And that's not all," — the tones grew eager now, ■ — 
" For I can read — my aunty taught me how." 
'■' Nonsense, my dear ! " the father quick replied, 
" You cannot read, my child, I'm satisfied." 

*' Yes, father, dear ! 0, yes ! I truly can, 
For aunty taught me," — and the child began 
To look around, perchance to find some way 
Of proving what her words had failed to say. 

The father smiled — and, pointing to the wall, 
Said, " Well, read that, if you can read at all." 
She hesitated — and the father spoke — 
" I told you so — I knew it was a joke." 

But still she kept her deep and earnest eyes 

Fixed on the board ; and soon, in glad surprise, 

Exclaimed, " I know it now ! 0, yes ! I see ! 

GOD — IS — NOW — HERE. That last word puzzled 



The conscience-stricken man, in mute amaze, 
Covered his face, to hide her startled gaze, 
While, from the rocky fount, untouched for years, 
Burst forth a flood of pure and holy tears. 

• 
" My God ! my child ! — andhas my darling learned, 
What 7, with death so near, denied and spurned ? 
Father ! forgive — and fill, with love divine, 
That life thy mercy spared, now wholly thine" 

Olive Leaf. 



116 



THE CARRIAGE AND COUPLE. 

A MAN in his carriage was riding along, 
I\ A gayly-dressed wife by his side ; 
In satin and lace she looked like a queen, 
And he, like a king in his pride. 

A wood-sawyer stood on the street as they passed ; 

The carriage and couple he eyed, 
And said, as he worked with his saw on a log, 

" I wish I was rich and could ride." 

The man in the carriage remarked to his wife, 

" One thing I would do if I could — 
I'd give all my wealth for the strength and the health 

Of the man who is sawing the wood." 

A pretty young maid with a bundle of work, 

Whose face as the morning was fair, 
Went tripping along with a smile of delight, 

While humming a love-breathing air. 

She looked in the carriage, the lady she saw, 

Arrayed in apparel so fine, 
And said, in a whisper, " I wish from my heart 

Those satins and laces were mine.' 7 

The lady looked out on the maid with her work, 

So fair in her calico dress, 
And said, "I'd relinquish position and wealth 

Her beauty and youth to possess." 

Thus it is in this world ; whatever our lot, 

Our minds and our time we employ 
In longing and sighing for what we have not, 

Ungrateful for what we enjoy. 



LITTLE DIAMOND AND THE DRUNKEN CABMAN. 117 

We welcome the pleasure for which we have sighed ; 

The heart has a void in it still, 
Growing deeper and wider the longer we live, 

That nought but Religion can fill. 



LITTLE DIAMOND AND THE DRUNKEN 
CABMAN. 

ONE night little Diamond woke up suddenly, believ- 
ing he heard the North Wind thundering along. 
But it was something quite different. South Wind 
was moaning round the chimneys, but it was not her 
voice that had wakened Diamond. Her voice would 
only have lulled him the deeper asleep. It was a loud, 
angry voice, now growling like that of a beast, now 
raving like that of a madman ; and when Diamond 
came a little wider awake, he knew that it was the 
voice of the drunken cabman, the wall of whose room 
was at the head of his bed. It was anything but 
pleasant to hear, but he could not help hearing it. 
At length there came a cry from the woman, and then 
a scream from the baby. Thereupon Diamond thought 
it time that somebody did something ; and as himself 
was the only somebody at hand, he must go and see 
whether he could not do the something. 

So he got up and put on part of his clothes, and 
went down the stair, out into the yard, and in at the 
next door. This, fortunately, the cabman, being drunk, 
had left open. 

By the time he reached the stair all was still, ex- 
cept the voice of the crying baby, which guided him 
to the right door. He opened it softly, and peeped in. 



118 . YOUNG FOLKS' HEADINGS. 

There, leaning back in a chair, with his arms hanging 
down by his side, and his legs stretched out before 
him and supported on his heels, sat the drunken cab- 
man. His wife lay in her clothes upon the bed, sob- 
bing, and the baby was wailing in the cradle. It was 
very miserable altogether. 

Now the way most people do when they see any- 
thing very miserable, is to turn away from the sight, 
and try to forget it. But Diamond began, as usual, to 
try to destroy the misery. The little boy, Diamond, 
was just as much one of God's messengers as if he had 
been an angel with a flaming sword, going out to fight 
the devil. The devil he had to fight just then was 
Misery. And the way he fought him was the very 
best. Like a wise soldier, he attacked him first in his 
weakest point — that was the baby ; for Misery can 
never get such a hold of a baby as of a grown person. 
Diamond was knowing in babies, and he knew he could 
do something to make the baby happy. I have known 
people who would have begun to fight the devil in a 
very different and a very stupid way. They would 
have begun by scolding the idiotic cabman ; and next 
they would make his wife angry by saying it must be 
her fault as well as his, and by leaving ill-bred, though 
well-meant, shabby little books for them to read, which 
they were sure to hate the sight of; while all the time 
they would not have put out a finger to touch the 
wailing iaby. But Diamond had him out of the cradle 
in a moment, set him up on his knee, and told him to. 
look at the light. 

Now all the light there was came only from a lamp 
in the yard, and it was a very dingy and yellow light, 
for the glass of the lamp was dirty, and the gas was 



LITTLE DIAMOND AND THE DRUNKEN CABMAN. 119 

bad ; but the light that came from it was, notwith- 
standing, as certainly light as if it had come from the 
sun itself, and the baby knew that, and smiled to it ; 
and although it was, indeed, a wretched room which 
that lamp lighted, — so dreary, and dirty, and empty, 
and hopeless ! — there in the middle of it sat Diamond 
on a stool, smiling to the baby, and the baby on his 
knees smiling to the lamp. 

The father of him sat staring at nothing, neither 
asleep nor awake, not quite lost in stupidity either, 
for through it all he was dimly angry with himself, he 
did not know why. It was that he had struck his 
wife. He had forgotten it, but was miserable about 
it notwithstanding. And this misery was the voice 
of the great Love that had made him and his wife and 
the baby and Diamond speaking in his heart, and tell- 
ing him to be good. For that great Love speaks in 
the most wretched and dirty hearts ; only the tone of 
its voice depends on the echoes of the place in which 
it sounds. On Mount Sinai it was thunder ; in the 
cabman's heart it was misery ; in the soul of St. John 
it was perfect blessedness. 

By and by he became aware that there was a voice 
of singing in the room. This, of course, was the voice 
of Diamond singing to the baby — song after song, 
every one as foolish as another to the cabman, for he 
was too tipsy to part one word from another ; all the 
words mixed up in his ear in a gurgle, without division 
or stop ; for such was the way he spoke himself, when 
he was in this horrid condition. But the baby was 
more than content with Diamond's songs, and Diamond 
himself was so contented with what the songs were all 
about, that he did not care a bit about the songs them- 



120 YOUNG folks' readings. 

selves, if only baby liked them. But they did the 
cabman good as well as the baby and Diamond, for 
they put him to sleep, and the sleep was busy all 
the time it lasted, smoothing the wrinkles out of his 
temper. 

At length Diamond grew tired of singing, and began 
to talk to the baby instead. And as soon as he stopped 
singing, the cabman began to wake up. His brain was 
a little clearer now, his temper a little smoother, and 
his heart not quite so dirty. He began to listen, and 
he went on listening, and heard Diamond saying to 
the baby something like this, for he thought the cab- 
man was asleep : — 

" Poor daddy ! Baby's daddy takes too much beer 
and gin, and that makes him somebody else, and not 
his own self at all. Baby's daddy would never hit 
baby's mammy if he didn't take too much beer. He's 
very fond of baby's mammy, and works from morning 
to night to get her breakfast and dinner and supper, 
only at night he forgets, and pays the money away for 
beer. And they put nasty stuff in the beer, I've heard 
my daddy say, that drives all the good out, and lets all 
the bad in. Daddy says when a man takes to drink, 
there's a thirsty devil creeps into his inside, because 
he knows he will always get enough there. And the 
devil is always crying out for more drink, and that 
makes the man thirsty, and so he drinks more and 
more, till he kills himself with it. And then the ugly 
devil creeps out of him, and crawls about on his belly, 
looking for some other cabman to get into, that he may 
drink, drink, drink. 

" That's what my daddy says, baby. And he says, 
too, the only way to make the devil come out, is to 



LITTLE. DIAMOND AND THE DRUNKEN CABMAN. 121 

give him plenty of cold water and tea and coffee, and 
nothing at all that comes from the public-house ; for the 
devil can't abide that kind of stuff, and creeps out pretty 
soon, for fear of being drowned in it. But your daddy 
will drink the nasty stuff, poor man ! I wish he 
wouldn't, for it makes mammy cross with him, and no 
wonder ! and then when mammy's cross, he's crosser, 
and there's nobody in the house to take care of them 
but baby ; and you do take care of them, baby — don't 
you, baby ? I know you do. Babies always take 
care of their fathers and mothers — don't they, baby ? 
That's what they come for — isn't it, baby ? And 
when daddy stops drinking beer, and nasty gin with 
turpentine in it, father says, then mammy will be so 
happy, and look so pretty ! and daddy will be so good 
to baby ! and baby will be as happy as a swallow, 
which is the merriest fellow ! And Diamond will be 
so happy, too ! And when Diamond's a man, he'll 
take baby out with him on the box, and teach him to 
drive a cab." 

He went on with chatter like this till baby was 
asleep, by which time he was tired, and father and 
mother were both wide awake, — - only rather con- 
fused — the one from beer, the other from the blow, 
— and staring, the one from his chair, the other from 
her bed, at Diamond. But he was quite unaware of 
their notice, for he sat half asleep, with his eyes wide 
open, staring in his turn, though without knowing it, 
at the cabman, while the cabman could not withdraw 
his gaze from Diamond's white face and big eyes. 
For Diamond's face was always rather pale, and now 
it was paler than usual with sleeplessness, and the 
light of the street lamp upon it. At length he found 



122 YOUNG folks' readings. 

himself nodding, and he knew then it was time to put 
the baby down, lest he should let him fall. So he rose 
from the little three-legged stool, and laid the baby in 
the cradle, and covered him up, and then he all but 
staggered out of the door, he was so tipsy himself 
with sleep. 

" Wife," said the cabman, turning towards the bed, 
" I do somehow believe that wur a angel just gone. 
Did you see him, wife ? He warn't wery big, and he 
hadn't got none o' them wingses, you know. It wur 
one o' them baby-angels you sees on the gravestones, 
you know." 

" Nonsense, hubby ! " said his wife ; " but it's just 
as good. I might say better, for you can ketch hold 
of Mm when you like. That's little Diamond, as every- 
body knows, and a duck o' diamonds he is ! No woman 
could wish for a better child than he be." 

" I ha' heard on him in the stable, but I never see 
the brat afore. Come, old girl, let bygones be bygones, 
and gie us a kiss, and make up." 

She was a good-natured woman. And her husband 
was not an ill-natured man, either ; and when in the 
morning he recalled not only Diamond's visit, but 
how he himself had behaved to his wife, he was very 
vexed with himself, and gladdened his poor wife's 
heart by telling her how sorry he was. And for a 
whole week after he did not go near the public-house, 
hard as it was to avoid it, seeing a certain rich brewer 
had built one, like a trap to catch souls and bodies in, 
at almost every corner he had to pass on his way home. 
Indeed, he was never quite so bad after that, though it 
was some time before he began really to reform. 

Geokge MACDONAIJ). 



SANTA CLAUS AND THE MOTHERLESS CHILDREN. 



SANTA CLAUS AND THE MOTHERLESS 
CHILDREN. 

A CHRISTMAS POEM. 

?r PWAS the eve before Christmas ; " Good night " had 

JL been said, 

And Annie and Willie had crept into bed ; 
There were tears on their pillows and tears in their eyes, 
And each little bosom was heavy with sighs ; 
For to-night their stern father's command had been given 
That they should retire precisely at seven, 
Instead of eight ; for they troubled him more 
With questions unheard of than ever before. 
lie had told them he thought this delusion a sin, 
No such being as " Santa Claus " ever had been, 
And he hoped, after this, he should never more hear 
How he scrambled down chimneys with presents each 

year. 
And this was the reason that two little heads 
So restlessly tossed on their soft, downy beds. 

Eight, nine, and the clock on the steeple tolled ten ; 
Not a word had been spoken by either till then, 
When Willie's sad face from the blanket did peep, 
And whispered, " Dear Annie, is you fast asleep ? }> 
" Why, no, brother Willie," a sweet voice replies ; 
'■ I've tried it in vain, but can't shut my eyes ; 
For somehow it makes me so sorry because 
Dear papa has said there is no ' Santa Claus.' 
Now we know there is, and it can't be denied, 
For he came every year before mamma died ; 
But, then, I've been thinking that she used to pray, 
And God would hear everything mamma would say, 
And perhaps she asked him to send Santa Claus here, 
With the sacks full of presents he brought every year." 



124 YOUNG folks' readings. 

" Well, why tan't we pay dest as mamma did then, 

And ask Him to send him with presents aden ? " 

11 I've been thinking so, too." And without a word more, 

Four little bare feet bounded out on the floor, 

And four little knees the soft carpet pressed, 

And two tiny hands were clasped close to each breast. 

" Now, Willie, you know we must firmly believe 
That the present we ask for we're sure to receive ; 
You must wait just as still till I say the '■ Amen/ 
And by that you will know that your turn has come then." 

" Dear Jesus, look down on my brother and me, 
And grant us the favor we're asking of thee ; 
I want a wax dolly, a tea-set and ring, 
And an ebony work-box that shuts with a spring. 
Bless papa, dear Jesus, and cause him to see 
That Santa Claus loves us far better than he. 
Don't let him get fretful and angry again 
At dear brother Willie and Annie. Amen." 

" Please, Desus, 'et Santa Taus turn down to-night, 
And bring us some presents before it is 'ight. 
I want he should dive me a nice little sed, 
With bright, shiny runners, and all painted yed ; 
A box full of tandy, a book and a toy, 
Amen, and then, Desus, I'll be a good boy." 

Their prayers being ended, they raised up their heads, 
And with hearts light and cheerful again sought their beds ; 
They were soon lost in slumber, both peaceful and deep, 
And with fairies in dreamland were roaming in sleep. 

Eight, nine, and the little French clock had struck ten, 
Ere the father had thought of his children again ; 
He seems now to hear Annie's half-suppressed sighs, 
And to see the big tears stand in Willie's blue eyes. 
" I was harsh with my darlings," he mentally said, 
" And should not have sent them so early to bed. 



SANTA GLAUS AND THE MOTHERLESS CHILDREN. 125 

But then I was troubled ; my feelings found vent, 
For bank stock to-day has gone down ten per cent. 
But of course they've forgot their troubles ere this, 
And that I denied them the thrice-asked-for kiss ; 
But just to make sure, I'll steal up to their door, 
For I never spoke harsh to my darlings before/' 

So saying, he softly ascended the stairs, 

And arrived at the door to hear both of their prayers. 

His Annie's " bless papa" draws forth the big tears, 

And Willie's grave promise falls sweet on his ears. 

■' Strange, strange I'd forgotten," said he, with a sigh, 

" How I longed when a child to have Christmas draw nigh 

I'll atone for my harshness," he inwardly said, 

" By answering their prayers ere I sleep in my bed." 

Then he turned to the stairs, and softly went down, 
Threw off velvet slippers and silk dressing-gown, 
Donned hat, coat, and boots, and was out in the street, 
A millionnaire facing the cold, driving sleet. 
Nor stopped he until he had bought everything, 
From the box full of candy to the tiny gold ring ; 
Indeed, he kept adding so much to his store 
That the various presents outnumbered a score. 
Then homeward he turned with his holiday load, 
And with Aunt Mary's aid in the nursery 'twas stowed. 

Miss Dolly was seated beneath a pine tree, 

By the side of a table spread out for her tea ; 

A work-box well filled in the centre was laid, 

And on it a ring, for which Annie had prayed. 

A soldier in uniform stood by a sled, 

" With bright shining runners, and all painted red." 

There were balls, dogs, and horses, books pleasing to see, 

And birds of all colors were perched in the tree ; 

While Santa Claus, laughing, stood up in the top, 

As if getting ready more presents to drop. 

And as the fond father the picture surveyed, 

He thought for his trouble he had amply been paid, 



126 YOUNG FOLKS' READINGS. 

And he said to himself, as he brushed off a tear, 

" Fm happier to-night than ever before. 

What care I if bank stock falls ten per cent, more ! 

Hereafter I'll make it a rule, I believe, 

To have Santa Claus visit us each Christmas Eve.'* 

So thinking, he gently extinguished the light, 

And tripped down the stairs to retire for the night. 

As soon as the beams of the bright morning sun 
Put the darkness to flight, and the stars, one by one, 
Four little blue eyes out of sleep opened wide, 
And at the same moment the presents espied. 
Then out of their beds they sprang with a bound, 
And the very gifts prayed for w r ere all of them found. 
They laughed and they cried in their innocent glee, 
And shouted for " papa " to come quick and see 
What presents old Santa Claus brought in the night 
(Just the things that they wanted), and left before light. 

" And now,' 7 added Annie, in a voice soft and low, 
" You'll believe there's a Santa Claus, papa, I know ; " 
While dear little Willie climbed up on his knee, 
Determined no secret between them should be, 
And told, in soft whispers, how Annie had said 
That their dear, blessed mamma, so long ago dead, 
Used to kneel down and pray by the side of her chair, 
And that God up in heaven had answered her prayer ! 
" Then we dot up and payed dust as well as we tould, 
And Dod answered our payers : now wasn't He dood ? " 

" I should say that He was, if He sent you all these, 
And knew just what presents my children would please. — 
Well, well, let him think so, the dear little elf; 
'Twould be cruel to tell him I did it myself." 

Blind father ! who caused your stern heart to relent, 
And the hasty word spoken so soon to repent ? 
'Twas the Being who bade you steal softly up stairs, 
And made you His agent to answer their prayers. 



ONLY A SHAVING. 127 



ONLY A SHAVING. 

A CHILD, as from school he was bounding by, 
Near the wall of a carpenter's workshop found 
A lustrous shaving that lured his eye ; 

And this treasure he timidly picked from the ground. 
The thing was tender, transparent, light, 

Silk-soft, odorous, veined so fine 
With rosy waves in the richest white, — 
Kare damask of dainty design ! 

With awe he touched it, and turned it o'er ; 
He had never seen such a wonder before ; 
And, gay as a ringlet of golden hair, 

It had floated and fallen down at his feet, 
Where, fluttering faint in each breath of bright air, 

It lay bathed by the sunshine sweet. 

The boy was a widow's sireless son ; 

A poor dame, pious and frugal, she. 
Brothers and sisters he had none ; 

Playmates and playthings few : and he 
Was gentle, and dreamy, and pure, as one 

To whom most pleasures privations be 
Ere childhood's playing is done. 

He would like to have taken his treasure away ; 

" But what," he thought, " would my mother say ? H 

As he wistfully eyed the windowed wall, 

Whence down from the casement of some ground floor 
He thought he had seen the fair thing fall. 

Then he knocked at the half-shut door. 

Near it the sturdy head-workman stood ; 
He was busily planing a plank of wood ; 
His arms were up to the elbows bare, 

Brawny and brown as the branch of an oak, 



128 YOUNG FOLKS' HEADINGS. 

And heavy with muscle and dusky with hair, 

Down over his forehead and face in a soak 
(For the heat of his labor had left them wet), 
Tell mane-like, matted, and black as jet, 

A huge, unkempt, and cumbrous coil 
Of stubborn curls, that to forehead and face 

Gave a savage look as he stooped at his toil. 
With many a sullen and sooty trace 

Of the glue-pot's grease and the work-shop's soil, 
His shirt, — last Sunday, though coarse, as clean 

As the parson's own, — this Friday noon 
Had the hue of the shift of that famous queen 

Who took Granada, but not so soon 
As her oath was taken. 

This man had seen 
The gentle child at the door, and thought, 

" 'Tis the child of a customer come with a message. - 
" Pray what has my little master brought ? 

Or what may he want ? " 

With no cheerful presage 
At the sight of his grim-faced questioner, 

A few faint words the poor child stammers, — 
Words unheard 'mid the noisy stir 

Of the hissing saws and the beating hammers. 
Then, abashed and blushing, he stands deterred, 
With a fluttering heart like a frightened bird, 
As he holds the shaving out in his hand, 

Timidly gazing at the strange prize. 

The workman was puzzled to understand 
This gracious vision. He rubbed his eyes. 

Is it vainly such visions come and go 
In flashes across life's laboring way ? 

We uplift the forehead, and fain would know 
What to think of them. Whence come they ? 

For they burst upon us, and brighten the air 
For a moment round us, and melt away, 

Lost as we longingly look at them. 



ONLY A SHAVING. 129 

''Hi! 
Silence, all of you hands down there ! " 

And you might have heard the hum of a fly 
In the hush of the suddenly silenced place. 
" What is it, my child ? " With a glowing face, — 

" Sir," said the child, " I was passing by, 
And I saw it fall, as I passed below, 

From the window, I think. So, as it fell near, 
1 have picked it up, and I bring it you now." 

" Bring what ? " " This beautiful ringlet here. 
Have you not missed it ? It must, I know, 

Have been hard to make. I have taken care. 
The wind was blowing it round the wall, 

And I never saw anything half so fair. 
But it is not broken, I think, at all." 

A 'prentice brat, whose cheek was puffed 

With a burst of laughter ready to split, 
Turned pale, by a single glance rebuffed 

Of that workman's eye which had noticed it. 
And the man there, shaggy and black as a bear, 

Nor any the sweeter for sweat and glue, 
Laid a horny hand on the child's bright hair, 

With a gentle womanly gesture drew 
The child up softly on to his knees, 

And gazed in its eyes till his own eyes grew 
Humid and red at the rims by degrees. 

" What is thine age, fair child ? " he said. 

" Five, next June." " And it pleases thee, 
This . . . ringlet-thing ? " The small bright head 

Nodded. He put the child from his knee, 
Swept from the bench a whole curly clan 

Of such shavings, and, " Hold up thy pinafore. 
There, they are thine. Run away, little man ! " 

" Mine ?-" "All thine." Then he opened the door, 
Stooped, and . . . was it a sigh or a prayer 

That, as into the sunshine the sweet child ran, 
Away with it passed in its golden hair ? 
9 



130 YOUNG folks' headings. 

Anon, when the hubbub again began 

Of hammer and saw in the workshop there, 

This workman paused from his work, and stood 

Looking a while (as though vexed by the view) 

At the shape which his work had bequeathed to the wood. 

Then he turned him about, and abruptly drew 
His pipe from his pocket, and stuffed it, and lit, 

And sat down on the bench by the open door, 
And smoked, and smoked. And in circles blue 

As the faint smoke wandered the warm air o'er, 
Still he sat dreamily watching it 

Rise like a ghost from the grimy clay, 

And hover, and linger, and fade away. 

I know not what were his thoughts. But I know 
There be shavings that down from a man's work fall, 

Which the man himself, as they drop below, 
Haply accounts of no worth at all ; 

And I know there be children that prize them more 
Than the man's true work, be its worth what it may. 

Owen Mebedith. 



ROMANCE AT HOME. 

WELL, I think I'll finish that story for the editor 
of the " Dutchman." Let me see ; where did I 
leave off? — The setting sun was just gilding with his 
last ray — 

u Ma, I want some bread and molasses ! " 

" Yes, dear." — gilding with his last ray the church 
spire — 

" Wife, where's my Sunday pants ? " 

" Under the bed, dear." — the church spire of Inver- 
ness, when a — 



ROMANCE AT HOME. 131 

" There's nothing under the bed, dear, but your lace 
cap — " 

" Perhaps they are in the coal-hod in the closet." — 
when a horseman was seen approaching — 

" Ma'am, the pertators is out; not one for dinner — " 

" Take some turnips ! " — approaching, covered with 
dust, and — 

" Wife, the baby has swallowed a button ! " 

u Reverse him, dear ! Take him by the heels." — 
and waving in his hand a banner, on which was 
written — 

" Ma ! I've torn my pantaloons ! " 

— " Liberty or death ! " The inhabitants rushed en 
masse — 

" Wife ! will you leave off scribbling ? " 
" Don't be disagreeable, Smith ; I'm just getting in- 
spired." — to the public square, where De Begnis, who 
had been secretly — 

" Butcher wants to see you, ma'am." 

— secretly informed of the traitors' — 

" Forgot which you said, ma'am, sausages or mutton 
chop." 

— movements, gave orders to fire ! Not less than 
twenty — " My gracious ! Smith, you haven't been 
reversing that child all this time ! He's as black as 
your coat ! And that boy of yours has torn up the 
first sheet of my manuscript. There ! it's no use for 
a married woman to cultivate her intellect. Smith, 
hand me those twins." 

Fannt Febn. 



132 YOUNG folks' readings. 



HOW HE SAVED ST. MICHAEL'S. 

SO you beg for a story, my darling, my brown-eyed 
Leopold, — 
And you, Alice, with face like morning, and curling locks 

of gold ; 
Then come, if you will, and listen — stand close beside 

my knee — 
To a tale of the southern city — proud Charleston by the 
sea. 

It was long ago, my children, ere ever the signal gun 
That blazed above Fort Sumter, had wakened the North 

as one ; 
Long ere the wondrous pillar of battle-cloud and fire 
Had marked where the unchained millions marched on to 

their hearts' desire. 

On roofs and the glittering turrets, that night as the sun 

went down, 
The mellow glow of the twilight shone like a jewelled 

crown, 
And, bathed in the living glory, as the people lifted their 

eyes, 
They saw the pride of the city — the spire of St. Michael's 

rise 

High over the lesser steeples, tipped with a golden ball, 
That hung like a radiant planet caught in its earthward 

fall — 
First glimpse of home to the sailor who made the harbor 

round, 
And last slow-fading vision dear to the outward bound. 

The gently gathering shadows shut out the waning light ; 
The children prayed at their bedsides, as you will pray 
to-night ; 



' HOW HE SAVED ST. MICHAEL'S. 133 

The noise of buyer and seller from the busy mart was 

gone, 
And in dreams of a peaceful morrow the city slumbered on. 

But another light than sunrise aroused the sleeping street, 

For a cry was heard at midnight, and the rush of tram- 
pling feet ; 

Men stared in each other's faces through mingled fire and 
smoke, 

While the frantic bells went clashing clamorous stroke on 
stroke ! 

By the glare of her blazing roof-tree the houseless mother 
fled, 

With the babe she pressed to her bosom shrieking in 
nameless dread ; 

While the fire-king's wild battalions scaled wall and cap- 
stone high, 

And planted their flaring banners against an inky sky. 

From the death that raged behind them, and the crash of 

ruin loud, 
To the great square of the city were driven the surging 

crowd, 
Where yet, firm in all the tumult, unscathed by the fiery 

flood, 
With its heavenward-pointing finger the church of St. 

Michael stood. 

But e'en as they gazed upon it, there rose a sudden wail, 
A cry of horror blended with the roaring of the gale, 
On whose scorching wings, up-driven, a single flaming 

brand, 
Aloft on the towering steeple, clung like a bloody hand. 

" Will it fade ? " The whisper trembled from a thousand 

whitening lips, — 
Far out on the lurid harbor they watched it from the 

ships — 



134 YOUNG folks' readings. 

A baleful gleam that brighter and ever brighter shone, 
Like a flickering, trembling will-o'-wisp to a steady beacon 
grown. 

" Uncounted gold shall be given to the man whose brave 
right hand, 

For the love of the perilled city, plucks down yon burn- 
ing brand ! " 

So cried the mayor of Charleston that all the people heard, 

But they looked each one at his fellow, no man spoke a 
word. 

Who is it leans from the belfry, with face upturned to the 
sky? 

Clings to a column, and measures the dizzy spire with his 
eye ? 

"Will he dare it, the hero undaunted, that terrible, sicken- 
ing height ? 

Or will the hot blood of his courage freeze in his veins at 
the sight ? 

But see ! he has stepped on the railing, he climbs with 
his feet and his hands ! 

And firm on a narrow projection, with the belfry beneath 
him, he stands ! 

Now once, and once only, they cheer him — a single, 
tempestuous breath — 

And there falls on the multitude gazing a hush-like still- 
ness of death. 

Slow, steadily mounting, unheeding aught save the goal 

of the fire, 
Still higher and higher, an atom, he moves on the face of 

the spire. 
He stops ! Will he fall ? Lo ! for answer, a gleam like 

a meteor's track, 
And, hurled on the stones of the pavement, the red brand 

lies shattered and black ! 



- HOW HE SAVED ST. MICHAEL'S. 135 

Once more the shouts of the people have rent the quiver- 
ing" air ! 

At the church door mayor and council wait with their feet 
on the stair ; 

And the eager throng behind them press for a touch of 
his hand — 

The unknown savior whose daring could compass a deed 
so grand. 

But why does a sudden tremor seize on them while they 

gaze ? 
And what meaneth that stifled murmur of wonder and 

amaze ? 
He stood in the gate of the temple he had perilled his life 

to save, 
And the face of the hero, my children, was the sable face 

of a slave ! 

With folded arms he was speaking, in tones that were 

clear, not loud, 
And his eyes ablaze in their sockets burnt into the eyes 

of the crowd : 
" You may keep your gold — I scorn it ! But answer me, 

ye who can, 
If the deed I have done before you be not the deed of 

a man ? 



? » 



He stepped but a short space backward, and from all the 

women and men 
There were only sobs for an answer, and the mayor called 

for a pen, 
And the great seal of the city, that he might read who 

ran ; — 
And the slave who saved St. Michael's went out from the 

door, — a Man. 



136 YOUNG folks' readings. 



SNYDER'S NOSE. 



SNYDER kept a beer saloon, some years ago, " over 
the Rhine." Snyder was a ponderous Teuton, of 
very irascible temper, — " sudden and quick in quar- 
rel," — get mad in a minute. Nevertheless his saloon 
was a great resort for " the boys," — partly because 
of the excellence of his beer, and partly because they 
liked to chafe " old Snyder," as they called him ; for, 
although his bark was terrific, experience had taught 
them that he wouldn't bite. 

One day Snyder was missing ; and it was explained 
by his " frau," that he had " gone out fishing mit der 
poys." The next day one of the boys, who was par- 
ticularly fond of " roasting " old Snyder, dropped in 
to get a glass of beer, and discovered Snyder's nose, 
which was a big one at any time, swollen and blistered 
by the sun, until it looked like a dead-ripe tomato. 

" Why, Snyder, what's the matter with your nose ? " 
said the caller. 

" I peen out fishing mit der poys," replied Snyder, 
laying his finger tenderly against his proboscis ; " the 
sun it pese hot like ash never vas, und I purns my 
nose. Nice nose — don't it?" 

And Snyder viewed it with a look of comical sad- 
ness in the little mirror back of his bar. It entered 
at once into the head of the mischievous fellow in 
front of the bar to play a joke upon Snyder ; so he 
went out and collected half a dozen of his comrades, 
with whom he arranged that they should drop in at 
the saloon one after another, and ask Snyder, " What's 



SNYDER'S NOSE. 137 

the matter with that nose ? " to see how long he would 
stand it. The man who put up the job went in first 
with a companion, and seating themselves at a table, 
called for beer. Snyder brought it to them ; and the 
new-comer exclaimed, as he saw him, — 

u Snyder, what's the matter with your nose ? " 

" I yust dell your frient here I peen out fishin' mit 
der poys, unt de sun he purnt 'em — zwi lager — den 
cents — all right." 

Another boy rushes in. 

" Halloo, boys, you're ahead of me this time ; s'pose 
I'm in, though. Here, Snyder, bring me a glass of 
lager and a pret " — (appears to catch a sudden 
glimpse of Snyder's nose, looks wonderingly a mo- 
ment, and then bursts out laughing) — " Ha ! ha ! ha ! 
Why, Snyder, — ha ! ha ! — what's the matter with 
that nose ? " 

Snyder, of course, can't see any fun in having a 
burnt nose, or having it laughed at ; and he says, in a 
tone sternly emphatic, — 

" I peen out fishin' mit der poys, unt de sun it yust 
ash hot ash blazes, unt I purnt my nose ; dat ish all 
right." 

Another tormentor comes in, and insists on " setting 
'em up " for the whole house. 

" Snyder," says he, " fill up the boys' glasses, and 
take a drink yourse — Ho ! ho ! ho ! ho ! ha ! ha ! ha ! 
Snyder, wha — ha ! ha ! — what's the matter with that 
nose ? " 

Snyder's brow darkens with wrath by this time, and 
his voice grows deeper and sterner, — 

" I peen out fishin' mit der poys on the Leedle Miami. 
De sun pese hot like ash — vel, I purn my pugle. Now, 



138 YOUNG folks' readings. 

that is more vot I don't got to say. Yot gind o' pese- 
ness ? Dat ish all right ; I purn my own nose — 
don't it?" 

" Burn your nose, — burn all the hair off your head, 
for what I care ; you needn't get mad about it." 

It was evident that Snyder wouldn't stand more 
than one more tweak at that nose ; for he was tramp- 
ing about behind his bar, and growling like an exas- 
perated old bear in his cage. Another one of his tor- 
mentors walks in. Some one sings out to him, — 

" Have a glass of beer, Billy ? " 

" Don't care about any beer," says Billy ; " but, Sny- 
der, you may give me one of your best ciga — Ha-a-a ! 
ha ! ha ! ha ! ho ! ho ! ho ! he ! he ! he ! ah-h-h-ha ! ha ! 
ha ! ha ! Why — why — Snyder — who — who — ha- 
ha ! ha ! what's the matter with that nose ? " 

Snyder was absolutely fearful to behold by this 
time ; his face was purple with rage, all except his 
nose, which glowed like a ball of fire. Leaning his 
ponderous figure far over the bar, and raising his arm 
aloft to emphasize his words with it, he fairly roared, — 

" I peen out fishin' mit ter poys. The sun it pese 
hot like ash never vas. I purnt my nose. Now you 
no like dose nose, you yust take dose nose unt wr-wr- 
wr- wring your mean American finger mit 'em ! That's 
the kind of man vot I am ! " 

"Fat Contributor." 



THE HIGH TIDE. 139 



THE HIGH TIDE. 

MOTHER, dear, what is the water saying ? 
Mother, dear, why does the wild sea roar ? " 
Cry the children, on the white sand playing, 
On the white sand, half a mile from shore. 
il Little ones, I fear a storm is growing. 

Come away ! 0, let us hasten home ! " 
Calls the mother ; and the wind is blowing, 
Flashing up a million eyes of foam. 

" Mother, see our footprints as we follow ! 

Mother, dear, what crawls along before ? " 
Creeping round and round, through creek and hollow, 

Runs the tide between them and the shore. 
" Hasten ! " cries the mother, forward flying. 

" Hasten, or we perish ; 'tis the tide ! " 
Led by her, affrighted now and crying, 

Fly the children, barefoot, at her side. 

'• Mother, dear, the sea is coming after ! 

Mother, 'tis between us and the land." 
Looking back, they see the waves with laughter 

Wash their little shoes from off the sand. 
"Quicker!" screams the mother, "quicker! quicker!' 

Fast they fly before the sullen sound. 
Step by step the mother's heart grows sicker ; 

Inch by inch the sea creeps round and round. 

" Mother, in the water we are wading ; 

Mother, it grows deeper as we go ! " 
" Hasten, children, hasten ! — day is fading — 

Higher creeps the tide so black and slow." 
Nay, but at each step the waves grow deeper ; 

" Turn this way ! " but there 'tis deeper still — 
Still the sea breathes like a drunken sleeper — 

Still the foam crawls, and the wind blows shrill. 



140 YOUNG folks' readings. 

" Mother, there is land, all green and dry land, 

Grass upon it growing, and a tree ! " 
A promontory turned into an island, 

Upsprings there in the ever-rising sea. 
" Mother, 'tis so deep, and we are dripping ! 

Mother, we are sinking ! Haste, 0, haste ! " 
In her arms uplifting them, and gripping, 

On she plunges, wading to the waist. 

" Mother, set us down among the grasses ! 

Mother, we are hungry ! " they now cry ; 
Watching the bright water as it passes, 

There they sit, between the sea and sky. 
Higher crawls the sea with deep intoning, 

Passing every flood-mark far or near — 
"' 'Tis the high tide ! " cries the mother, moaning, 

" Coming only once in many a year ! " 

Higher ! higher ! lapping round the island 

Flows the water with a sound forlorn. 
Those are flowers 'tis snatching from the dry land — 

Pale primroses sweet and newly born. 
Smaller grows the isle where they sit sobbing, 

Darker grows the day on every side — 
Whiter grows the mother, with heart throbbing 

Madly, as she marks the fatal tide. 

" Children, cling around me ! hold me faster ! 

Kiss me ! God is going to take all three ! 
Say the prayer I taught you — He is Master ! 

He is Lord, and in His hands lie we! '.' 
Flowers the tide is snatching while it calls so, 

Flowers its lean hands never snatched before ; 
Will it snatch these human flowers also ? 

Where they cling, sad creatures of the shore ? 

Nay, for o'er the tide a boat is stealing — 

On their names a man's strong voice doth cry. 



' THE MOTHERLESS TURKEYS. 141 

" God be praised ! " the mother crieth, kneeling, 
" He hath heard our prayer, and help is nigh." 

" Father ! " cry the children ; " this way, father ! 
Here we are ! " aloud crj' girl and boy. 

Comes the boat — the children round it gather — 
But the mother smiles and faints for joy. 



THE MOTHERLESS TURKEYS. 

THE white turkey was dead ! The white turkey was 
dead ! 

How the news through the barn-yard went flying ! 
Of a mother bereft, four small turkeys were left, 

And their case for assistance was crying. 
E'en the peacock respectfully folded his tail, 

As a suitable symbol of sorrow, 
And his plainer wife said, " Now the old bird is dead, 

Who will tend her poor chicks on the morrow ? 
And when evening around them comes dreary and chill, 

Who above them will watchfully hover ? " 
" Two, each night, I will tuck 'neath my wings," said 
the duck, 

" Though I've eight of my own I must cover ! " 
" I have so much to do ! For the bugs and the worms, 

In the garden, 'tis tiresome pickin' ; 
I have nothing to spare, — for my own I must care," 

Said the hen with one chicken. 

" How I wish," said the goose, " I could be of some use, 

For my heart is with love over-brimming ; 
The next morning that's fine, they shall go with my nine 

Little yellow-backed goslings, out swimming ! " 
" I will do what I can," the old Dorking put in, 

■' And for help they may call upon me, too ; 
Though I've ten of my own that are only half grown, 

And a great deal of trouble to see to. 



142 YOUNG FOLKS' readings. 

But those poor little things, they are all heads and wings, 
And their bones through their feathers are stickin' ! " 

" Very hard it may be, but, 0, don't come to me ! " 
Said the hen with one chicken. 

" Half my care, I suppose, there is nobody knows, — 

I'm the most overburdened of mothers ! 
They must learn, little elves, how to scratch for them- 
selves, 

And not seek to depend upon others." 
She went by with a cluck, and the goose to the duck 

Exclaimed, in surprise, " Well, I never ! " 
Said the duck, " I declare, those who have the least care, 

You will find, are complaining forever ! 
And when all things appear to look threatening and drear, 

And when troubles your pathway are thick in, 
For some aid in your woe, 0, beware how you go 

To a hen with one chicken ! " 

Makian Douglass. 



M 



A BIRD'S-EYE VIEW. 

f^UOTH the boy, "I'll climb that tree, 

And bring down a nest, I know." 
Quoth the girl, " I will not see 

Little birds defrauded so. 
Cowardly their nests to take, 
And their little hearts to break, 

And their little eggs to steal. 
Leave them happy for my sake, ■ — 

Surely little birds can feel ! " 

Quoth the boy, " My senses whirl ; 

Until now I never heard 
Of the wisdom of a girl, 

Or the feelings of a bird ! 
Pretty Mrs. Solomon, 



THE POX IN THE WELL. 143 

Tell me what you reckon on 

When you prate in such a strain ; 

If I wring their necks anon, 

Certainly they might feel — pain ! " 

Quoth the girl, " I watch them talk, 

Making love and making fun, 
In the pretty ash-tree walk, 

When my daily task is done. 
In their little eyes I find 
They are very fond and kind. 

Every change of song or voice, 
Plainly proveth to my mind, 

They can suffer and rejoice. " 

And the little robin-bird 

(Nice brown back and crimson breast) 
All the conversation heard, 

Sitting trembling in his nest. 
" What a world," he cried, " of bliss, 
Full of birds and girls, were this ! 

Blithe we'd answer to their call ; 
But a great mistake it is 

Boys were ever made at all." 



THE FOX IN THE WELL. 

SIR REYNARD once, as I've heard tell, 
Had fallen into a farmer's well, 
When wolf, his cousin, passing by, 
Heard from the depths his dismal cry. 

Over the wheel a well-chain hung, 
From which two empty buckets swung ; 
At one, drawn up beside the brink, 
The fox had paused, no doubt, to drink, 



144 YOUNG folks' headings. 

And putting in his head, had tipped 
The bucket ; fox and bucket slipped, 
And, hampered by the ball, he fell, 
As I have said, into the well. 
As down the laden bucket went, 
The other made its swift ascent. 

His cousin, wolf, beguiled to stop, 
Listened astonished at the top ; 
Looked down, and, by the uncertain light, 
Saw Reynard in a curious plight — 
There in his bucket at the bottom, 
Calling as if the hounds had got him ! 

" What do you there ? " his cousin cried. 
" Dear cousin wolf," the fox replied, 
'* In coming to the well to draw 
Some water, what d'ye think I saw ? 
It glimmered bright and still below ; 
You've seen it ; you did not know 
It was a treasure ! Now, behold ! 
I've got my bucket filled with gold, 
Enough to buy ourselves and wives 
Poultry to last us all our lives 1 " 

The wolf made answer with a grin : 
" Dear me ! I thought you tumbled in ! 
What then is all this noise about ? " 
" Because I could not draw it out ; 
I called to you," the fox replied : 
" First help me ; then we will divide," 

" How ? " " Get into the bucket there." 
The wolf, too eager for a share, 
Did not one moment pause to think ; 
There hung the bucket by the brink, 
And in he stepped. As down he went, 
The cunning fox made his ascent, 



145 



Being the lighter of the two. 

" That's right ! ha ! ha ! how well you do ! 

How glad I am you came to help ! ?; 

Wolf struck the water with a yelp ; 

The fox leaped out. " Dear wolf ! " said he, 

" You've been so very kind to me, 

I'll leave the treasure all to you ; 

I hope 'twill do you good ! Adieu ! 

There comes the farmer." Off he shot, 

And disappeared across the lot, 

Leaving the wolf to meditate 

Upon his miserable fate — 

To flattering craft a victim made, 

By his own greediness betrayed ! 

J. T. Trowbridgk. 



A LITTLE CHILD'S TRIALS. 

MY father had a farm-hand who took a great fancy 
to me, and when I was not more than two years 
old, or, at the most, two and a half, he made me a kit- 
ten-yoke, and gave me a pair of the prettiest kittens 
I ever saw. How long I played with them I do not 
remember, nor do I know what became of them ; but 
they disappeared quite suddenly one day, and I have 
heard nothing of them since. 

Undoubtedly they went the way of all kittens, after 
they begin to overstock the market ; but to me it was 
a great mystery : and if the poor little things had been 
caught up while I was playing with them, and whisked 
off out of sight by hawk or buzzard, or if they had van- 
ished into thin air while I was watching them, yoke 
and all, I should not have been more puzzled nor as- 
tonished. 

10 



146 YOUNG FOLKS' readings. 

Only one other case of perplexity do I remember 
that will compare with this ; and I must acknowledge 
that, for a long while, I had no faith in the explana- 
tions that were offered me. There came up, one bright 
summer afternoon, towards nightfall, a prodigious hail- 
storm — the first I had ever seen, or heard of. Being 
always inquisitive, and much in earnest, I gathered a 
wooden dish full of the little white beads, before they 
missed me from the porch, and hid it away where no- 
body would be likely to stumble over it. 

But, alas ! when I went for my little treasure, in- 
stead of the white beads, or seed-pearl, I had gathered 
by handfuls, I found nothing but a little dirty water. 

It was in vain they told me that my hailstones had 
melted ; I did not believe them, and I could not. And 
as I grew older, and came to hear about hailstones 
and coals of fire mingled together, it seemed still 
more unlikely ; for I had seen nothing that resembled 
coals of fire, and if there was any lightning, I do not 
remember it. 

To me it was like the manna gathered by the chil- 
dren of Israel without permission — a little round thing 
that wouldn't keep. 

Trivial though such incidents may be in themselves, 
yet, if they are remembered to the last by the aged 
man, they must have had their influence upon the 
child — at an age, too, when the lightest touch may 
outlast both engraving and sculpture. 

If I may trust my memory, the loss of my sled, the 
loss of my kitten-yoke and little steers, and the loss 
of my seed-pearl, were the sorest of my trials up to 
the age of twelve. JOHN NKAI . 



CURFEW MUST NOT RING TO-NIGHT. 147 



CURFEW MUST NOT RING TO-NIGHT. 

ENGLAND'S sun was setting 
O'er the hills so far away, 
Filled the land with misty beauty 

At the close of one sad day : 
And the last rays kissed the forehead 

Of a man and maiden fair ; " 
He with step so slow and weary, 

She with sunny, floating hair ; 
He with bowed head, sad and thoughtful, 

She with lips so cold and white, 
Struggling to keep back the murmur, 

" Curfew shall not ring to-night." 

u Sexton/' Bessie's white lips faltered, 

Pointing to the prison old, 
With its walls so tall and gloomy, 

Walls so dark, and damp, and cold, — 
" I've a lover in that prison, 

Doomed this very night to die 
At the ringing of the Curfew, 

And no earthly help is nigh : 
Cromwell' will not come till sunset," 

And her face grew strangely white, 
As she spoke in husky whispers, — 

" Curfew shall not ring to-night." 

u Bessie," calmly spoke the sexton, — 

Every word pierced her young heart 
Like a thousand gleaming arrows, 

Like a deadly poisoned dart, — 
" Long, long years I've rung the Curfew 

From that gloomy shadowed tower ; 
Every evening, just at sunset, 

It has told the twilight hour. 
I have done my duty ever, 

Tried to do it just and right ; 



148 YOUNG FOLKS' READINGS. 

Now I'm old, I will not miss it, 
Girl, the Curfew rings to-night." 

Wild her eyes, and pale her features, 

Stern and white her thoughtful brow, 
And within her heart's deep centre 

Bessie made a solemn vow ; 
She had listened while the judges 

Eead, without a tear or sigh : 
" At the ringing of the Curfew — 

Basil Underwood must die.'' 1 
And her breath came fast and faster, 

And her eyes grew large and bright — 
One low murmur, scarcely spoken, 

" Curfew must not ring to-night I" 

She with light step bounded forward, 

Sprung within the old church-door, 
Left the old man coming slowly 

Paths he'd trod so oft before ; 
Not one moment paused the maiden, 

But, with cheek and brow aglow, 
Staggered up the gloomy tower, 

Where the bell swung to and fro ; 
Then she climbed the slimy ladder, 

Dark, without one ray of light, 
Upward still, her pale lips saying, 

" Curfew shall not ring to-night/ ' 

She has reached the topmost ladder, 

O'er her hangs the great dark bell, 
And the awful gloom beneath her, 

Like the pathway down to hell ! 
See, the ponderous tongue is swinging, 

; Tis the hour of Curfew now — 
And the sight has chilled her bosom, 

Stopped her breath and paled her brow. 
Shall she let it ring ? No, never. 

Her eyes flash with sudden light, 
And she springs and grasps it firmly — 

a Curfew shall not ring to-night ! " 



CURFEW MUST NOT RING TO-NIGHT. 149 

Out she swung, far out ; — the city 

Seemed a tiny speck below, 
There, 'twixt heaven and earth suspended, 

As the bell swung to and fro ; 
And the half-deaf sexton ringing, 

(Years he had not heard the bell,) 
And he thought the twilight Curfew 

Eung young Basil's funeral knell ; 
Still the maiden, clinging firmly, 

Cheek and brow so pale and white, 
Stilled her frightened heart's wild beating — 

" Curfew shall not ring to-night I " 

It was o'er — the bell ceased swaying, 

And the maiden stepped once more 
Firmly on the damp old ladder, 

Where for hundred years before 
Human foot had not been planted : 

And what she this night had done 
Should be told long ages after — 

As the rays of setting sun 
Light the sky with mellow beauty, 

Aged sires with heads of white 
Tell the children why the Curfew 

Did not ring that one sad night. 

O'er the distant hills came Cromwell ; 

Bessie saw him, and her brow, 
Lately white with sickening horror, 

Glows with sudden beauty now. 
At his feet she told the story, 

Showed her hands all bruised and torn ; 
And her sweet young face so haggard, 

With a look so sad and worn, 
Touched his heart with sudden pity, 

Lit his eyes with misty light. 
" Go, your lover lives," cried Cromwell ; 

" Curfew shall not ring to-night ! " 



150 YOUNG folks' readings. 



MY FATHER'S HALF-BUSHEL. 

MY father s half-bushel comes oft to my mind, 
And wakens deep feelings of various sorts ; 
'Twas an honest half-bushel — a noble half-bushel, 
It held a half-bushel of thirty-two quarts ! 

When I think of that bushel — my father's half-bushel, 
That dear old half-bushel, so honest and true ! 

Then look at the bushels, our city half-bushels, 
Little dandy half-bushels, it makes one feel blue ! 

0, my father's half-bushel — that country half-bushel, 
It's like, or my father's — 0, when shall I see ? 

; Twas a blessed half-bushel, and he is a blest man, 

For he filled his half-bushel, and something threw free ! 

Alas ! I've long searched for their likeness in vain ! 
Scarce a man, or half-bushel, but what gives me pain, 
So unlike to my father's their measures, v and measure, 
My life is nigh robbed of all peace and all pleasure ! 

Yet all the half-bushels, if mean, are not small ; 
I'm vexed with the great ones most, after all. 
0, mark out that ash-man's next time he shall call, 
'Tis a monstrous half-bushel — holds quarts sixty-four : 
Do send the base rascal away from your door ! 

'Tis a fact I am stating, no slanders I utter, 
But who can forbear, when cheated, to mutter ? 
In New York, a barrel (I pray you, don't laugh) 
Won't hold so much ashes as 'taters by half ! 

Zounds ! what are the lawyers, and what are the laws, 
But bugbears and phantoms, mere feathers or straws ? 
Unless our half-bushels are all made as one, 
Like father's half-bushel, I say we're undone. 



THE FRUITS OF LIBERTY. 151 



THE FRUITS OF LIBERTY. 

ARIOSTO tells a pretty story of a fairy, who, by 
some mysterious law of her nature, was con- 
demned to appear at certain seasons in the form of 
a foul and poisonous snake. Those who injured her 
during the period of her disguise were forever ex- 
cluded from participation in the blessings which she 
bestowed. But to those who, in spite of her loath- 
some aspect, pitied and protected her, she afterwards 
revealed herself in the beautiful and celestial form 
which was natural to her, accompanied their steps, 
granted all their wishes, filled their houses with 
wealth, made them happy in love, and victorious in 
war. 

Such a spirit is Liberty. At times she takes the 
form of a hateful reptile. She grovels, she hisses, she 
stings. But woe to those who in disgust shall ven- 
ture to crush her ! And happy are those who, having 
dared to receive her in her degraded and frightful 
shape, shall at length be rewarded by her in the time 
of her beauty and glory ! 

There is only one cure for the evils which newly 
acquired freedom produces, and that cure is freedom. 
When a prisoner first leaves his cell he cannot bear 
the light of day : he is unable to discriminate colors, 
or recognize faces. But the remedy is, not to remand 
him into his dungeon, but to accustom him to the rays 
of the sun. 

The blaze of truth and liberty may at first dazzle 
and bewilder nations which have become half blind 
in the house of bondage. But let them gaze on, and 



152 

they will soon be able to bear it. In a few years men 
learn to reason. The extreme violence of opinions 
subsides. Hostile theories correct each other. The 
scattered elements of truth cease to contend, and begin 
to coalesce. And at length a system of justice and 
order is educed out of the chaos. 

Many politicians of our time are in the habit of lay- 
ing it down as a self-evident proposition, that no peo- 
ple ought to be free till they are fit to use their free- 
dom. The maxim is worthy of the fool in the old 
story, who resolved not to go into the water till he 
had learned to swim. If men are to wait for liberty 
till they become wise and good in slavery, they may 
indeed wait forever. macaulay. 



WINK. 



7) 



1HAYE a kitty, and, what do you think ? 
Her name is Puss, but I call her ". Wink ; 
And the reason why I call her so 
Is this : 0, ever so long ago, 
My mother brought her home one day 
In a little basket, all the way 
From — dear me ! where was it ? — I can't remember, 

It was so long — the name of the town, 
But the month, I'm sure, was June — or December ; 

And when mother set the basket down 
On the kitchen floor, she said, " Little Grace, 
Just peep in here, but take care of your face, 
For it's something 'live, and it may jump up." 
I thought, much as could be, it must be a pup, 
For brother Jem had been teasing hard 

For a black one, all fuzzy, and full of his fun, 
Like the one that lives in Joe Cassidy's yard ; 

He rolls over and over — he's too fat to run. 



WINK. 153 

But, no ! when I looked in, there lay a kitty, 

All cuddled up close, so silky and pretty, 

A blue cat — Aunt Eleanor says she's Maltese ; 

I don't know what that is, it may be her fleece, 

'Cause it shines so ; but soon as my new kitty saw 

That the basket was open, she stretched out her paw 

To shake hands with her mistress, and just seemed to know 

She had come to a good home where people would 
treat her 
Like one of God's creatures, and nobody throw 

Stones and brickbats to hurt her, or cruelly beat her. 
So she looked up at me, and said, softly, " You ? you ? " 
And winked just as hard as ever she knew. 
" Yes, it's I, little Grade," I answered her then, 
And, 0, don't you think, she began winking again ! 
Jemmy laughed — so did I — but she didn't get cross 
At our fun, like May Fisher and Lilian Morse, 
But was just as good-natured as could be, and lay 
As still as a mouse, with nothing to say. 
I caught her up, then, and hugged her and kissed her — 

They were little soft hugs, and she liked them, I guess — 
But Jemmy screamed out, "You are choking her, sister!" 

And frightened her so she hid in my dress. 
She's got used to him now, and don't care for his noise, 
For she's found out he's just like the rest of the boys. 
Jem says she's a stupid, and can't tell a rat 
From a rose-bush ; but I know better than that. 
And she isn't afraid of them, either, but thinks 

It isn't quite right to kill them for sport, 
So she lies on the mat in the wood-shed and winks 

At their pranks, and they never get caught. 
J don't care, I am sure, for rats like to live 
Just as well as we do, and if people would give 
Them their food every day in a little tin dish, 
They'd learn to be honest, perhaps, and eat fish, 
And pick bones, like the cats, and behave very well, 
As poor Wink does. That's all. I've no more to tell. 

Mrs. E. D. Kendall. 



154 YOUNG folks' readings. 



THE STUBBORN BOOT. 

BOTHER ! " was all John Clatterby said. 
His breath came quick, and his cheek was red, 
He nourished his elbows, and looked absurd, 
While over and over his " Bother ! " I heard. 

Harder and harder the fellow worked, 
Vainly and savagely still he jerked ; 
The boot, half on, would dangle and flap — 
n Bother ! " and then he bursted the strap. 

Redder than ever his hot cheek flamed ; 
Harder than ever he fumed and blamed ; 
He wriggled his heel, and tugged at the leather 
Till knees and chin came bumping together. 

" My boy/' said I, in a voice like a flute, 
" Why not — ahem ! — try the mate of that boot ? 
Or the other foot ? " — " I'm a goose ! " laughed John, 
As he stood, in a flash, with his two boots on. 

In half the affairs 

Of this busy life 
(As that same day 

I said to my wife), 
Our troubles come 

From trying to put 
The left-hand shoe 

On the right-hand foot ; 
Or vice versa 

(Meaning, reverse, sir), 
To try to force, 

As quite of course, 
Any wrong foot 

In the right shoe, 
Is the silliest thing 

A man can do. Hearth and HorM . 



MARSTON MOOR. 155 



MARSTON MOOR. 

TO horse ! to horse ! Sir Nicholas, the clarion's note is 
high! 
To horse ! to horse ! Sir Nicholas, the big drum makes 

reply ! 
Ere this hath Lucas marched, with his gallant cavaliers, 
And the bray of Rupert's trumpets grows fainter in our 

ears. 
To horse ! to horse ! Sir Nicholas ! White Guy is at the 

door, 
And the raven whets his beak o'er the field of Marston 

Moor. 

Up rose the Lady Alice from her brief and broken prayer, 
And she brought a silken banner down the narrow turret- 
stair. 
! many were the tears that those radiant eyes had shed, 
As she traced the bright word " Glory " in the gay and 

glancing thread ; 
And mournful was the smile which o'er those lovely fea- 
tures ran, 
As she said, "It is your lady's gift ; unfurl it in the 
van!" 



" It shall flutter, noble wench, where the best and boldest 

ride, 
'Midst the steel-clad files of Skippon, the black dragoons 

of Pride ; 
The recreant heart of Fairfax shall feel a sicklier qualm, 
And the rebel lips of Oliver give out a louder psalm, 
When they see my lady's gewgaw flaunt proudly on their 

wing, 
And hear her loyal children shout, " For God, and for the 

King ! " 



156 YOUNG folks' headings. 

'Tis soon. The ranks are broken, along the royal line 
They fly, the braggarts of the court ! the bullies of the 

Rhine ! 
Stout Langdale's cheer is heard no more, and Astley's 

helm is down, 
And Eupert sheathes his rapier, with a curse and with a 

frown, 
And cold Newcastle mutters, as he follows in their flight, 
" The German boar had better far have supped in York 

to-night." 

The knight is left alone, his steel-cap cleft in twain, 

His good buff jerkin crimsoned o'er with many a gory 

stain ; 
Yet still he waves his banner, and cries amid the rout, 
" For Church and King, fair gentlemen ! spur on, and fight 

it out ! " 
And now he wards a Roundhead's pike, and now he hums 

a stave, 
And now he quotes a stage-play, and now he fells a 

knave. 

God aid thee now, Sir Nicholas ! thou hast no thought 

of fear ; 
God aid thee now, Sir Nicholas ! for fearful odds are 

here ! 
The rebels hem thee in, and at every cut and thrust, 
" Down, down," they cry, " with Belial ! down with him 

to the dust ! " 
" I would," quoth grim old Oliver, " that Belial's trusty 

sword 
This day were doing battle for the saints and for the 

Lord ! " 

The Lady Alice sits with her maidens in her bower, 
The gray-haired warder watches from the castle's top- 
most tower : 



MARSTON MOOR. 157 

11 What news ? what news, old Hubert ? " — " The bat- 
tle's lost and won : 

The royal troops are melting, like mists before the sun ! 

And a wounded man approaches — I'm blind and cannot 
see, 

Yet sure I am that sturdy step my master's step must 
be!" 

" I've brought thee back thy banner, wench, from as rude 
and red a fray 

As e'er was proof of soldier's thew, or theme for min- 
strel's lay ! 

Here, Hubert, bring the silver bowl, and liquor quantum 
suff. 

I'll make a shift to drain it yet, ere I part with boots and 
buff — 

Though Guy through many a gaping wound is breathing 
forth his life, 

And I come to thee a landless man, my fond and faithful 
wife ! 

" Sweet, we will fill our money-bags, and freight a ship 

for France, 
And mourn in merry Paris for this poor land's mischance; 
For if the worst befall me, why, better axe and rope, 
Than life with Lenthal for a king, and Peters for a pope ! 
Alas ! alas ! my gallant Guy ! — curse on the crop-eared 

boor 
Who sent me, with my standard, on foot from Marston 

Moor ! " w . M . PRAED . 



158 YOUNG folks' readings. 



CALDWELL OF SPRINGFIELD. 

HERE'S the spot. Look around you. Above on the 
height 
Lay the Hessians encamped. By that church on the 

right 
Stood the gaunt Jersey farmers. And here ran a wall — 
You may dig anywhere and you'll turn up a ball. 
Nothing more. Grasses spring, waters run, flowers blow 
Pretty much as they did ninety-three years ago. 

Nothing more, did I say ? Stay, one moment : you've 

heard 
Of Caldwell, the parson, who once preached the word 
Down at Springfield ? What, no ? Come — that's bad, 

why, he had 
All the Jerseys aflame ! And they gave him the name 
Of the " rebel high priest." He stuck in their gorge, 
For he loved the Lord God — and he hated King George ! 

He had cause, you might say ! When the Hessians that 

day, 
Marched up with Knyphausen, they stopped on their way 
At the " Farms," where his wife, with a child in her arms, 
Sat alone in the house. How it happened, none knew 
But God — and that one of the hireling crew 
Who fired the shot. Enough ! — there she lay, 
And Caldwell, the chaplain, her husband, away ! 

Did he preach — did he pray ? Think of him, as you 

stand 
By the old church to-day ; think of him, and that band 
Of militant ploughboys ! See the smoke and the heat 
Of that reckless advance — of that straggling retreat ! 
Keep the ghost of that wife, foully slain, in your view — 
And what could you — what should you — what would 

you do ? 






WASHINGTON. 159 

Why, just what he did ! They were left in the lurch 
For the want of more wadding. He ran to the church, 
Broke the door, stripped the pews, and dashed out in the 

road 
With his arms full of hymn-books, and threw down his 

load 
At their feet ! Then, above all the shouting and shots, 
Rang his voice, " Put Watts into 'em — boys, give 'em 

Watts ! " 

And they did. That is all. Grasses spring, flowers blow 
Pretty much as they did ninety-three years ago. 
You may dig anywhere and you'll turn up a ball — 
But not always a hero like this — and that's all. 

Bret Haetk. 



WASHINGTON. 

ROME had its Caesar, great and brave ; but stain was 
on his wreath ; 
He lived the heartless conqueror, and died the tyrant's 

death. 
France had its eagle ; but his wings, though lofty they 

might soar, 
Were spread in false ambition's flight, and dipped in 
murder's gore. 

Those hero-gods, whose mighty sway would fain have 
- chained the waves — 

Who fleshed their blades with tiger zeal to make a world 
of slaves — 

Who, though their kindred barred the path, still fiercely 
waded on — 

! where shall be their " glory ". by the side of Washing- 
ton ? 



160 YOUNG folks' readings. 

He fought, but not with love of strife — he struck but 

to defend ; 
And ere he turned a people's foe, he sought to be a friend. 
He strove to keep his country's right, by reason's gentle 

word, 
And sighed when fell injustice threw the challenge — 

sword to sword. 

He stood, the firm, the calm, the wise, the patriot and 

sage ; 
He showed no deep, avenging hate — no burst of despot 

rage. 
He stood for liberty and truth, and dauntlessly led on, 
Till shouts of victory gave forth the name of Washington. 

He saved his land, but did not lay his soldier trappings- 
down 

To change them for the regal vest, and don a kingly 
crown. 

Fame was too earnest in her joy — too proud of such a 
son — 

To let a robe and title mask a noble Washington. 

Eliza Cooke. 



A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 

A HUNDRED years have rolled away, 
Since that high, heroic day r 
When our fathers, in the fray, 

Struck the conquering blow ! 
Praise to them — the bold who spoke, 
Praise to them — the brave who broke 
Stern oppression's galling yoke, 
A hundred years ago. 



' A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 161 

Pour the wine of sacrifice, 
Let the grateful anthem rise, 
Shall we e'er resign the prize ? . 

Never — never — no ! 
Hearts and hands shall guard those rights, 
Bought on Freedom's battle heights, 
Where he fixed his signal lights, 

A hundred years ago. 

Swear it, by the mighty dead, 
Them who counselled, them who led, 
By the blood your fathers shed, 

By your mothers' woe ; 
Swear it, by the living few, 
Them whose breasts were scarred for you, 
When to freedom's ranks they flew, 

A hundred years ago. 

By the joys that cluster round, 
By our vales with plenty crowned, 
By our hill-tops, holy ground, 

Rescued from the foe, 
Where of old the Indian strayed, 
Where of old the Pilgrim prayed, 
Where the patriot drew his blade, 

A hundred years ago. 

Should again the war-trump peal, 
There shall Indian firmness seal 
Pilgrim faith and patriot zeal, 

Prompt to strike the blow ; 
There shall valor's work be done ; 
Like the sire shall be the son, 
Where the fight was waged and won, 

A hundred years ago. 
11 



162 YOUNG folks' readings. 



A NIGHT OF TERROR. 

PAUL LOUIS COURIER thus writes to a cousin, 
of a series of terrors experienced by him : — 

" I was one day travelling in Calabria ; a country 
of people who, I believe, have no great liking to any- 
body, and are particularly ill-disposed towards the 
French. To tell you why would be a long affair. It 
is enough that they hate us to death, and that the 
unhappy being who should chance to fall into their 
hands would not pass his time in the most agreeable 
manner. I had for my companion a worthy young 
fellow ; I do not say this to interest you, but because 
it is the truth. In these mountains, the roads are 
precipices, and our horses advanced with the greatest 
difficulty. My comrade going first, a track, which ap- 
peared to him more practicable and shorter than the 
regular path, led us astray. It was my fault. Ought 
I to have trusted to a head of twenty years ? We 
sought our way out of the wood while it was yet 
light ; but the more we looked for the path, the far- 
ther we were off it. 

" It was a very black night, when we came close 
upon a very black house. We went in, and not with- 
out suspicion. But what was to be done ? There we 
found a whole family of charcoal-burners at table. At 
the first word, they invited us to join them. My young 
man did not stop for much ceremony. In a minute or 
two we were eating and drinking in right earnest — 
he at least ; for my own part, I could not help glan- 
cing about at the place and the people. Our hosts, 
indeed, looked like charcoal-burners ; but the house 1 



A NIGHT OF TERROR. 163 

you would have taken it for an arsenal. There was 
nothing to be seen but muskets, pistols, sabres, knives, 
cutlasses. Everything displeased me, and I saw that 
I was in no favor myself. My comrade, on the con- 
trary, was soon one of the family. He laughed, he 
chatted with them ; and with an imprudence which I 
ought to have prevented, he at once said where we 
came from, where we were going, and that we were 
Frenchmen. Think of our situation ! Here we were 
among our mortal enemies — alone, benighted, and 
far from all human aid. That nothing might be 
omitted that could tend to our destruction, he must, 
forsooth, play the rich man, promising these folks to 
pay them well for their hospitality ; and then he must 
prate about his portmanteau, earnestly beseeching 
them to take care of it, and put it at the head of his 
bed, for he wanted no other pillow. Ah, youth, youth ! 
how art thou to be pitied ! Cousin, they might have 
thought that we carried the diamonds of the crown : 
and yet the treasure in his portmanteau, which gave 
him so much anxiety, consisted only of some private 
letters ! 

" Supper ended, they left us. Our hosts slept be- 
low ; we on the story where we had been eating. In 
a sort of platform raised seven or eight feet, where we 
were to mount by a ladder, was the bed that awaited 
us — a nest into which we had to introduce ourselves 
by jumping over barrels filled with provisions for all 
the year. My comrade seized upon the bed above, 
and was soon fast asleep, with his head upon the pre- 
cious portmanteau. I was determined to keep awake, 
so I made a good fire, and sat myself down. The 
night was almost passed over tranquilly enough, and 



164 YOUNG folks' readings. 

I was beginning to be comfortable, when just at the 
time it appeared to me that day was about to break, I 
heard our host and his wife talking and disputing be- 
low me ; and, putting my ear into the chimney, Avhich 
communicated with the lower room, I perfectly dis- 
tinguished these exact words of the husband : ' Well, 
well, let us see — must we kill them both ? ' To which 
the wife replied, ' Yes ! ? and I heard no more. 

" How should I tell you the rest ? I could scarcely 
breathe ; my whole body was as cold as marble ; had 
you seen me, you could not have told whether I was 
dead or alive. Even now, the thought of my condition 
is enough. We two were almost without arms; against 
us, were twelve or fifteen persons who had plenty of 
weapons. And then, my comrade was overwhelmed 
with sleep. To call him up, to make a noise, was more 
than I dared ; to escape alone was an impossibility. 
The window was not very high ; but under it were 
two great dogs, howling like wolves. Imagine, if you 
can, the distress I was in. At the end of a quarter of 
an hour, which seemed to be an age, I heard some one 
on the staircase, and, through the chink of the door, I 
saw the old man, with a lamp in one hand, and one of 
his great knives in the other. 

" The crisis was now come. He mounted — his wife 
followed him, I was behind the door. He opened it ; 
but before he entered, he put down the lamp, which 
his wife took up, and coming in, with his feet naked, 
she, being behind him, said, in a smothered voice, hid- 
ing the light partially with her fingers, ' Gently, go 
gently.' On reaching the ladder, he mounted, with his 
knife between his teeth, and going to the head of the 
bed where that poor young man lay, with his throat 



' THE UNFINISHED PRAYER. 165 

uncovered, with one hand he took the knife, and with 
the other — ah, my cousin ! — he seized — a ham which 
hung from the roof, cut a slice, and retired as he had 
come in ! 

" When the day appeared, all the family, with a great 
noise, came to rouse us as we had desired. They 
brought us plenty to eat ;. they served us up, I assure 
you, a capital breakfast. Two chickens formed a part 
of it, the hostess saying, ' You must eat one, and carry 
away the other.' When I saw them, I at once com- 
prehended the meaning of those terrible words, ' Must 
we kill them both?'" 



' THE UNFINISHED PRAYER. 

" AJOW I lay," repeat it, darling ; 

1\| " Lay me," lisped the tiny lips 
Of my daughter, kneeling, bending 

O'er her folded finger-tips. 

" Down to sleep." " To sleep," she murmured, 

And the curly head dropped low ; 
" I pray the Lord," I gently added, 

You can say it all, you know. 

" Pray the Lord," the word came faintly, 
Fainter still, " My soul to keep ; " 

Then the tired head fairly nodded, 
And the child fell fast asleep. 

But the dewy eyes half opened 

When I clasped her to my breast, 
And the dear voice softly whispered, 

" Mamma, God knows all the rest." 



166 YOUNG folks' readings. 



BLINDMAN'S BUFF. 

THREE wags (whom some fastidious carpers 
Might rather designate three sharpers) 
Entered at York, the cat and fiddle ; 

And finding that the host was out 
On business for two hours or more, 
While Sam, the rustic waiter, wore 

The visage of a simple lout, 
Whom they might safely try to diddle, — 
They ordered dinner in a canter, — 

Cold or hot, it mattered not, 
Provided it was served instanter. 

Sam soon produced a first-rate dinner, 
On which an alderman might dine ; 
Joints hot and cold, dessert and wine, 

He spread before each hungry sinner. 
With talking, laughing, eating, and quaffing, 

The bottles stood no moment still. 
They rallied Sam with joke and banter, 
And, as thev drained the last decanter, 

Called for the bill. 

'Twas brought, — when one of them, who eyed 
And added up the items, cried, 

" Extremely moderate, indeed ! 
I'll make a point to recommend 
This inn to every travelling friend ; 

And you, Sam, shall be doubly fee'd." 
This said, a weighty purse he drew, 

When his companion interposed. 
" Nay, Harry, that will never do ; 

Pray let your purse again be closed ; 
You paid all charges yesterday ; 
'Tis clearly now my turn to pay." 
Harry, however, wouldn't listen 

To any such insulting offer ; 



blindman's buff. 167 

His generous eyes appeared to glisten 

Indignant at the very proffer ; 
And though his friend talked loud, his clangor 
Served but to aggravate Hal's anger. 
" My worthy fellow, 7 ' cried the third, 
" Now, really, this is too absurd. 
What ! do you both forget 
I haven't paid a farthing yet ? 

Am I in every house to cram, 
At your expense ? 'Tis childish, quite. 
I claim this payment as my right. 

Here, how much is the money, Sam ? " 

The others bawled out fierce negation, 
And hot became the altercation ; 
Each in his purse his money rattling, 
Insisting, arguing, and battling. 
One of them cried, at last, " A truce ! 
Wrangling for trifles is no use. 

That we may settle what we three owe, 
We'll blindfold Sam, and whichsoe'er 
He catches of us first shall bear 

All the expenses of the trio, 
With half a crown (if that's enough) 
To Sam for playing blindman's buff." 
Sam liked it hugely, — thought the ransom 
For a good game of fun was handsome ; 
Gave his own handkerchief beside, 
To have his eyes securely tied, 
And soon began to grope and search ; 

When the three knaves, I needn't say, 
Adroitly left him in the lurch, 

Slipped down the stairs, and stole away. 

Poor Sam continued hard at work. 

Now o'er a chair he gets a fall ; 
Now floundering forward with a jerk, 

He bobs his nose against the wall ; 



168 YOUNG folks' readings. 

And now, encouraged by a subtle 

Fancy that they're near the door, 

He jumps behind it to explore, 
And breaks his shins against the scuttle. 
Just in the crisis of his doom, 
The host, returning, sought the room ; 
Sam pounced upon him like a bruin, 
And almost shook him into ruin. 
" Huzza ! I've caught you now ; so down 
With cash for all, and my half crown ! " 

Off went the bandage, and his eyes 
Seemed to be goggling o'er his forehead, 
While his mouth widened with a horrid 

Look of agonized surprise. 
"You gudgeon \" roared his master; "gull! and dunce! 
Fool, as you are, in that you're right for once ; 
? Tis clear that I must pay the sum ; 

But this one thought my wrath assuages, 
That every half-penny shall come, 

Dolt, from your wages ! " HoEACE Smiih . 



KEARNY AT SEYEN PINES. 

SO that soldierly legend is still on its journey — 
That story of Kearny who knew not to yield ! 
'Twas the day when, with Jameson, fierce Berry and 
Birney, 
Against twenty thousand he rallied the field. 
Where the red volleys poured, where the clamor rose 
highest, 
Where the dead lay in clumps through the dwarf-oak 
and pine ; 
Where the aim from the thicket was surest and nighest, 
No charge like Phil Kearny's along the whole line. 



KEARNY AT SEVEN PINES. 169 

When the battle went ill, and the bravest were solemn, 
Near the dark Seven Pines, where we still held our 
ground, 
He rode down the length of the withering column, 

And his heart at our war-cry leaped up with a bound ; 
He snuffed, like his charger, the wind of the powder, 

His sword waved us on, and we answered the sign ; 
Loud our cheers as we rushed, but his laugh rang the 
louder, — 
" There's the devil's own fun, boys, along the whole 
line ! " 

How he strode his brown steed ! How we saw his blade 
brighten 

In the one hand still left — and the reins in his teeth ! 
He laughed like a boy when the holidays heighten, 

But a soldier's glance shot from his visor beneath. 
Up came the reserves to the mellay infernal, 

Asking where to go in — through the clearing or pine ? 
" 0, anywhere ! Forward ! 'Tis all the same, colonel ; 

You'll find lovely fighting along the whole line ! " 

0, evil the black shroud of night at Chantilly, 

That hid him from sight of his brave men and tried ! 
Foul, foul sped the bullet that clipped the white lily, 

The flower of our knighthood, the whole army's pride ! 
Yet we dream that he still, in that shadowy region, 

Where the dead form their ranks at the wan drummer's 
sign, 
Rides on, as of old, down the length of his legion, 

And the word still is — Forward ! along the whole line. 

Edmund C. Stedman. 



170 YOUNG folks' readings. 



BABY FAITH. 

BEAUTIFUL faith of childhood ! How 
It beamed to-night on the upturned brow 
Of rny three-year Love, as she knelt to say 
Her prayers, in her guileless, dreamy way. 

" And wouldn't my darling like," I said, 
As softly I stroked the bowing head, 
" Like to be good, and by and by 
G-o to a home in the happy sky, 
Away and away above yon star, 
Where God and his holy angels are ? " 

She lifted her drowsy and dewy eyes, 
And a shy, scared look of half surprise 
Rippled and filmed their depth of blue, 
And kept the gladness from breaking through ; 
" I think I would like to go/' she said, 
Yet doubtingly shook her golden head, 
And clasped my hands in her fingers small, 
"But then, I'm afraid that I might fall 
Out at the moon! " 

Her baby eye 
Saw only an opening in the sky — 
A marvellous oriel, whence the light 
Of heaven streamed out across the night — 
Where the angels lean, as they come and go, 
Agaze at our world so far below. 

She mused a moment in tender thought, 
Then suddenly every feature caught 
A new, rare sparkle, and I could trace 
The dawn of trust that flashed her face. 
" But God is good. He will understand 
That Baby's afraid, and will take my hand 
And lead me in at the shining door, 
And then I shall be afraid no more." 

Christian Observer. 



BE PATIENT. 171 



BE PATIENT. 

BE patient ! 0, be patient ! Put your ear against the 
earth ; 
Listen there how noiselessly the germ o' the seed has 

birth ; 
How noiselessly and gently it upheaves its little way, 
Till it parts the scarcely broken ground, and the blade 
stands up in the day. 

Be patient ! 0, be patient ! The germs of mighty thought 

Must have their silent undergrowth, must underground be 
wrought ; 

But as sure as there's a power that makes the grass ap- 
pear, 

Our land shall be green with liberty, the blade-time shall 
be here. 

Be patient ! 0, be patient ! Go and watch the wheat 

ears grow — 
So imperceptibly that ye can mark nor change nor throe — 
Day after day, day after day, till the ear is fully grown, 
And then again, day after day, till the ripened field is 

brown. 

Be patient ! 0, be patient ! though yet our hopes are 

green, 
The harvest fields of freedom shall be crowned with sunny 

sheen. 
Be ripening ! be ripening ! mature your silent way, 
Till the whole broad land is tongued with fire or freedom's 

harvest day. 



172 YOUNG FOLKS' readings. 



MY DOG "SPORT. 



1HAVE always loved dogs, and dogs have always 
loved me. I cannot recall a time in my life when 
I was afraid of a dog, and I never knew a dog to be 
cross to me. We understand each other. Dogs, like 
people, soon find out who are their friends, and all the 
sympathy of their dog nature warms up to them. I 
endure cats. I fancy birds. I like horses. But I 
love dogs with a real human love. I have been the 
owner of a good many, and their memory is fragrant 
with me yet. 

But the best and loveliest of them all was Sport. 
He was as handsome as a picture — of a rich brown 
color, with large, liquid eyes, full of inexpressible 
tenderness, long silken ears that reached nearly to 
the ground, a short pug nose, and square, intellec- 
tual head. He was a rare beauty. People would 
always stop and look round at him as he passed. 
Thieves tried to steal him ; but he was too cunning 
for them. 

He understood language, as far as his range of 
words went, as well as a man ; yes, better than some 
men I know. He would watch my every motion, and 
at the slightest hint would be off like shot to do my 
bidding. If I told him to take a man's hat off in the 
street (which, I am sorry to say, I have done), he 
would give a spring to his shoulders, and bring me 
the hat before the man had time to get over his scare 
and look round. Sometimes, if I left home and had 
forgotten something, it would be enough to say. 
" Sport, l handkerchief ! ' ' pocket-book ! ' i gloves ! ' " 



MY DOG " SPORT." 173 

when away he would go, soon after returning with 
the article in his mouth. 

I was once bathing in the Delaware. After I had 
dressed and gone a mile from the place, I found that 
I had left my necktie. I looked at Sport, pointed at 
my neck, and said, "Bring it." Before the words 
were fairly spoken he was off, and in a quarter of an 
hour returned with the tie in his mouth. 

I used to play hide and seek with him. I would turn 
him out of the room, and then hide my handkerchief. 
He always beat me. I would put it under the carpet, 
inside the piano, stuff it down behind the sofa seat. 
But he always found it. Once I put it on top of the 
curtain cornice. He had a long hunt that time ; but 
at last he mounted on a chair, looked up, gave a 
long snuff, then wagged his tail and whined. He 
couldn't get it, but told me plainly enough where 
it was. 

One Sunday night I came home from church very 
tired, and thought I would see if he could get my 
slippers. I took off my boots, and, pointing to my 
feet, said, " Sport, slippers ! " It was a new word 
to him. He looked at me sharply ; then at my feet ; 
then away he went to the bedroom and brought my 
nightgown. Seeing my boots off, and knowing that 
it was near bed-time, he thought that was what I 
wanted. I shook my head, " No, no ; " and again 
pointed to my feet. " Slippers, see ! " showing the 
uncovered foot. Away he went the second time, 
returning with the bootjack. I said, u No, no." He 
looked at me again inquiringly, turned his head on 
one side, then dashed off the third time with a sharp 
yelp. This time he got them ; and, 0, how glad and 



174 YOUNG folks' readings. 

proud he was when I patted him approvingly ! He 
never made a mistake about slippers after that. 

Of all dogs he was the most faithful. If I put any- 
thing in his charge, he would guard it for hours, and I 
believe he would have sacrificed his life rather than 
desert it. Put him beside a sleeping child, and say, 
" Watch ! " and woe betide any one who should dis- 
turb that child ! 

Once I came to the city in a steamboat. I put my 
valise on the fore-deck, and told Sport to watch it. 
He lay down with his paw upon it, and his sharp 
eyes unclosed. When the boat reached the landing, 
a colored porter rushed up to me, crying out, " Bag- 
gage ? baggage ? " " Yes," I said ; " take that valise." 
pointing to it. He sprang for it, but Sport made a 
snap at him that soon drove him back. He tried in 
vain to get possession of it by artifice. I stood by 
laughing. 

The porter saw the joke, and went ashore to call a 
comrade. u Here, Pete," he said, " take that gen'F- 
man's valise. I'm full ! " Away the second fellow 
went for it ; but Sport's teeth rattled more furiously 
than ever. I offered him double fare if he would get 
it j but it was of no use. Sport was too much for him ; 
and even after I had called him off duty he eyed the 
man suspiciously, and never left him till the valise was 
safely home. 

Once only was Sport disobedient. He was subjected 
to a temptation too great for even his great dog heart. 
We had sailed across and down the river in a large 
yacht ; when anchoring, we took a small skiff to hunt 
in the reeds for ducks, bidding Sport remain on the 
yacht and keep watch. We were gone about an hour, 



MY DOG " SPORT." 175 

had fired a few shots, then returned to the yacht. But 
Sport was not there. We called him, whistled for him, 
fired our guns, but in vain. We spent hours seeking 
for him among the reeds. Fruitless search ! He was 
not there. We thought him lost to us forever, and 
with sad hearts at nightfall returned home. But 
Sport was ahead of us. He was lying on the grass 
at the landing, waiting ; but too weary to rise even. 
He could only wag his tail, and that faintly. 

We saw at once what the matter was. He had 
heard the shooting while on the yacht, and in a mo- 
ment of excitement had forgotten the command to 
stay, and jumped into the water. Not being able to 
swim through the reeds to us, he returned to the 
yacht ; but the sides were too high for him to climb 
up. After, probably, many fruitless efforts, he started 
for home on the side of the river — a long swim against 
the current; but he accomplished it. It cost him 
dearly, though. He grew quite deaf, and lost his 
ambition from that day. 

Soon afterwards he was walking on the railroad, 
and, unable to hear an approaching train, he was run 
over and killed. How sad we were ! I felt that I 
had lost a friend to whom I was all the world. I 
wonder sometimes if there is no after-life for one like 
him. The line between his instinct and a soul's in- 
telligence was very faint. The depth of his affection 
was wonderful. Poor dear Sport ! Would that my 
arms were around thy neck, and thy soft silken ears 
were resting on my cheek now ! Thy place can never 
be niieu.. KEV Thomas street. 



176 YOUNG folks' readings. 



SCIPIO TO THE SENATE. 

[Scipio the Great, when his brother was accused of peculation, 
with some suspicion of his own complicity, tore in pieces the ac- 
counts which he held in his hand, and flung them down before the 
senate, refusing to put his honor in question.] 

QUESTIONED in trust and honor, I could speak, 
Nor aught that honor might disclose would spare ; 
Questioned in doubt, excusing words were weak 
And coward breaths, to shame their kindred air. 

Ye that can doubt me, pass in silence by ; 

Bury my name, nor greet me with a word ! 
My truth is deaf to challenge of a lie ; 

Not with that champion does it cross the sword. 

Have I, then, lived among you all these years 
A dubious phantom, true or false unknown ? 

And ye, forsooth ! would have to lay your fears 
My doubted faith by proof of parchment shown ? 

Never from me ! I tear the proofs to shreds, 
And strew them here upon the senate floor ; 

Ye that know not a man, go make your beds 

Upon your thorniest thoughts ; vex me no more 

0, ye could trust me in your hour of need, 
When the grim foe was menacing your gates ; 

But saved your rude suspicion for your meed, 
When I had made you master of your fates. 

Asked ye for parchments when the power of Rome 
To foreign shores I led in stern array ? 

Called ye for parchments when, returning home, 
I brought you victory, beauteous as the day ? 



KING ROBERT OF SICILY. 177 

Your fate, as my sword's hilt, was in my hand ; 

I came a conqueror, but bent the knee, 
By faith subdued, and lowly to my land 

Gave that in power, that came in want to me. 

And now in power, behold, ye come to say, 

Hast thou not filched our coins ? Speak, give us proof. 

Nay, pawn your doubt to win another, play 
Your game of question : proud, I stand aloof. 

There ! gather up these fragments, if ye will, 

And mouse among them, — pore, compare, and scan. 

When of that labor ye have had your fill, 
Go, learn the art of arts — to know a man ! 

D. A. Wasson. 



KING ROBERT OF SICILY. 

ROBERT of Sicily, brother of Pope Urbane, 
And Yalmond, emperor of Allemaine, 
Apparelled in magnificent attire, 
With retinue of many a knight and squire, 
On St. John's eve, at vespers, proudly sat 
And heard the priests chant the Magnificat. 
And as he listened, o'er and o'er again 
Repeated, like a burden or refrain, 
He caught the words, " Deposuit potentes 
De sede, et exaltavit humiles ; " 
And slowly lifting up his kingly head, 
He to a learned clerk beside him said, 
" What mean these words ? " The clerk made answer 

meet, 
" He has put down the mighty from their seat, 
And has exalted them of low degree." 
Thereat King Robert muttered scornfully, 
" ; Tis well that such seditious words are sung 
Only by priests, and in the Latin tongue ; 
12 



178 YOUNG folks' readings. 

For unto priests and people be it known, 
There is no power can push rne from my throne I M 
And leaning back, he yawned and fell asleep, 
Lulled by the chant monotonous and deep. 

When he awoke, it was already night ; 

The church was empty, and there was no light, 

Save where the lamps that glimmered, few and faint, 

Lighted a little space before some saint. 

He started from his seat and gazed around, 

But saw no living thing, and heard no sound. 

He groped towards the door, but it was locked ; 

He cried aloud, and listened, and then knocked, 

And uttered awful threatenings, and complaints, 

And imprecations upon men and saints. 

The sounds re-echoed from the roof and walls, 

As if dead priests were laughing in their stalls. 

At length the sexton, hearing from without 
The tumult of the knocking and the shout, 
And thinking thieves were in the house of prayer, 
Came with his lantern, asking, " Who is there ? " 
Half choked with rage, King Robert fiercely said, 
" Open ; 'tis I, the king ! Art thou afraid ? " 
The frightened sexton, muttering with a curse, 
" This is some drunken vagabond, or worse," 
Turned the great key, and flung the portal wide ; 
A man rushed by him at a single stride, 
Haggard, half naked, without hat or cloak, 
Who neither turned, nor looked at him, nor spoke, 
But leaped into the blackness of the night, 
And vanished like a spectre from his sight. 

Robert of Sicily, brother of Pope Urbane, 
And Yalmond, emperor of Allemaine, 
Despoiled of his magnificent attire, 
Bare-headed, breathless, and besprent with mire, 
With sense of wrong and outrage desperate, 



KING ROBERT OF SICILY. 179 

Strode on and thundered at the palace gate ; 

Rushed through the court-yard, thrusting, in his rage, 

To right and left each seneschal and page, 

And hurried up the broad and sounding stair, 

His white face ghastly in the torches' glare. 

From hall to hall he passed with breathless speed ; 

Voices and cries he heard, but did not heed, 

Until at last he reached the banquet-room, 

Blazing with light, and breathing with perfume. 

There on the dais sat another King, 
Wearing his robes, his crown, his signet-ring, 
King Robert's self in features, form, and height, 
But all transfigured with angelic light ! 
It was an angel ; and his presence there 
With a divine effulgence filled the air, 
An exaltation piercing the disguise, 
Though none the hidden angel recognize. 

A moment speechless, motionless, amazed, 

The throneless monarch on the angel gazed, 

Who met his looks of anger and surprise 

With the divine compassion of his eyes ; 

Then said, "Who art thou? and why cam' st thou here?" 

To which King Robert answered, with a sneer, 

" I am the king, and come to claim my own 

From an impostor, who usurps my throne ! " 

And suddenly, at these audacious words, 

Up sprang the angry guests, and drew their swords ; 

The angel answered, with unruffled brow, 

" Nay, not the king, but the king's jester ; thou 

Henceforth shalt wear the bells and scalloped cape, 

And for thy counsellor shall lead an ape ; 

Thou shalt obey my servants when they call, 

And wait upon my henchmen in the hall ! " 

Deaf to King Robert's threats, and cries, and prayers, 
They thrust him from the hall, and down the stairs ; 



180 YOUNG folks' readings. 

A group of tittering pages ran before, 

And as they opened wide the folding-door, 

His heart failed, for he heard, with strange alarms, 

The boisterous laughter of the men-at-arms, 

And all the vaulted chamber roar and ring 

With the mock plaudits of " Long live the King ! " 

Next morning, waking with the day's first beam, 
He said within himself, " It was a dream ! " 
But the straw rustled as he turned his head ; 
There were the cap and bells beside his bed ; 
Around him rose the bare, discolored walls ; 
Close by, the steeds were champing in their stalls, 
And in the corner, a revolting shape, 
Shivering and chattering, sat the wretched ape. 
It was no dream ; the world he loved so much 
Had turned to dust and ashes at his touch ! 

Days came and went ; and now returned again 
To Sicily the old Saturnian reign ; 
Under the angel's governance benign 
The happy island danced with corn and wine, 
And deep within the mountain's burning breast 
Enceladus, the giant, was at rest. 
Meanwhile King Eobert yielded to his fate, 
Sullen, and silent, and disconsolate. 
Dressed in the motley garb that jesters wear, 
With looks bewildered and a vacant stare, 
Close shaven above the ears, as monks are shorn, 
By courtiers mocked, by pages laughed to scorn, 
His only friend the ape, his only food 
What others left, — he still was unsubdued. 
And when the angel met him on his way, 
And half in earnest, half in jest, would say, 
Sternly, though tenderly, that he might feel 
The velvet scabbard held a sword of steel, 
" Art thou the king ? " the passion of his woe 
Burst from him in resistless overflow, 



' KING ROBERT OF SICILY. 181 

And lifting high his forehead, he would fling 

The haughty answer back, " I am, I am the king ! " 

Almost three years were ended, when there came 

Ambassadors of great repute and name 

From Valmond, emperor of Allemaine, 

Unto King Robert, saying that Pope Urbane, 

By letter summoned them forthwith to come 

On Holy Thursday to his city of Home. 

The angel with great joy received his guests, 

And gave them presents of embroidered vests, 

And velvet mantles with rich ermine lined, 

And rings and jewels of the rarest kind. 

Then he departed with them o'er the sea, 

Into the lovely land of Italy, 

Whose loveliness was more resplendent made 

By the mere passing of that cavalcade, 

With plumes, and cloaks, and housings, and the stir 

Of jewelled bridle and of golden spur. 

And lo ! among the menials, in mock state, 

Upon a piebald steed, with shambling gait, 

His cloak of fox-tails flapping in the wind, 

The solemn ape demurely perched behind, 

King Robert rode, making huge merriment 

In all the country towns through which they went. 

The pope received them with great pomp, and blare 

Of bannered trumpets, on St. Peter's square, 

Giving his benediction and embrace, 

Fervent, and full of apostolic grace. 

While with congratulations and with prayers, 

He entertained the angel unawares, 

Robert, the jester, bursting through the crowd, 

Into their presence rushed, and cried aloud, 

"I am the king ! Look and behold in me 

Robert, your brother, King of Sicily ! 

This man, who wears my semblance to your eyes, 

Is an impostor in a king's disguise. 



182 YOUNG folks' headings. 

Do you not know me ? does no voice within 
Answer my cry, and say we are akin ? " 
The pope in silence, but with troubled mien, 
Gazed at the angel's countenance serene ; 
The emperor, laughing, said, "It is strange sport 
To keep a madman for thy fool at court 1 " 
And the poor baffled jester in disgrace 
Was hustled back among the populace. 

In solemn state the holy week went by, 

And Easter Sunday gleamed upon the sky ; 

The presence of an angel, with its light, 

Before the sun rose, made the city bright, 

And with new fervor filled the hearts of men, 

Who felt that Christ indeed had risen again ; 

Even the jester, on his bed of straw, 

With haggard eyes the unwonted splendor saw ; 

He felt within a power unfelt before, 

And, kneeling humbly on his chamber floor, 

He heard the rushing garments of the Lord 

Sweep through the silent air, ascending heavenward. 

And now the visit ending, and once more 

Valmond returning to the Danube's shore, 

Homeward the angel journeyed, and again 

The land was made resplendent with his train, 

Flashing along the towns of Italy 

Unto Salerno, and from there by sea. 

And when once more within Palermo's wall, 

And seated on his throne in his great hall, 

He heard the Angelus from convent towers, 

As if the better world conversed with ours, 

He beckoned to King Robert to draw nigher, 

And with a gesture bade the rest retire ; 

And when they were alone, the angel said, 

" Art thou the king ? " Then bowing down his head, 

King Robert crossed both hands upon his breast, 

And meekly answered him, u Thou knowest best 1 



OUR FATHERS. 183 

My sins as scarlet are ; let me go hence, 
And in some cloister's school of penitence, 
Across those stones that pave the way to heaven 
"Walk barefoot, till my guilty soul is shriven." 
The angel smiled, and from his radiant face 
A holy light illumined all the place, 
And through the open window, loud and clear, 
They heard the monks chant in the chapel near, 
Above the stir and tumult of the street, — 
" He has put down the mighty from their seat, 
And has exalted them of low degree ! " 
And through the chant a second melody 
Rose like the throbbing of a single string-, — 
"lam an angel, and thou art the king ! " 

King Robert, who was standing near the throne, 

Lifted his eyes, and lo ! he was alone ! 

But all apparelled as in days of old, 

With ermine d mantle, and with cloth of gold ; 

And when his courtiers came, they found him there 

Kneeling upon the floor, absorbed in silent prayer. 



OUR FATHERS. 

OMANY a time it hath been told, 
, The story of those men of old. 
For this fair Poetry hath wreathed 

Her sweetest, purest flower ; 
For this proud Eloquence hath breathed 

His strain of loftiest power ; 
Devotion, too, hath lingered, round 
Each spot of consecrated ground, 

And hill and valley blessed ; 
There, where our banished fathers strayed, 
There, where they loved, and wept, and prayed, 

There, where their ashes rest. 



184 



And never may they rest unsung, 
While Liberty can find a tongue. 
Twine, Gratitude, a wreath for them 
More deathless than the diadem, 
Who, to life's noblest end, 

Gave up life's noblest powers, 
And bade the legacy descend 

Down, down to us and ours. 

By centuries now the glorious hour we mark, 

When to these shores they steered their shattered bark; 

And still, as other centuries melt away, 

Shall other ages come to keep the day. 

When we are dust, who gather round this spot, 

Our joys, our griefs, our very names forgot, 

Here shall the dwellers of the land be seen, 

To keep the memory of the Pilgrims green. 

Nor here alone their praises shall go round, 

Nor here alone their virtues shall abound — 

Broad as the empire of the free shall spread, 

Far as the foot of man shall dare to tread, 

Where oar hath never dipped, where human tongue 

Hath never through the woods of ages rung, 

There, where the eagle's scream and wild wolf's cry 

Keep ceaseless day and night through earth and sky, 

Even there, in after time, as toil and taste 

Go forth in gladness to redeem the waste, 

Even there shall rise, as grateful myriads throng, 

Faith's holy prayer, and Freedom's joyful song ; 

There shall the flame that flashed from yonder Rock, 

Light up the land, till Nature's final shock. 

Charles Spraguk. 



MOTIVES OF ACTION. 185 



MOTIVES OF ACTION. 

IT has been said by a noble lord, that I am running 
the race of popularity. If the noble lord means 
by popularity, that applause bestowed by after ages 
on good and virtuous actions, I have long been strug- 
gling in that race ; to what purpose, all-trying Time 
can alone determine. But if the noble lord means 
that mushroom popularity that is raised without merit, 
and lost without crime, he is much mistaken in his 
opinion. 

I defy the noble lord to point out a single instance 
in my life where the popularity of the times ever 
had the smallest influence on my determinations. I 
thank Heaven I have a more permanent and steady 
rule of conduct — the dictates of my own breast. 

Those that have foregone that pleasing adviser, and 
given up their mind to be the slave of every popular 
impulse, I sincerely pity ; I pity them still more, if 
their vanity leads them to mistake the shouts of a mob 
for the trumpet of fame. Experience might inform 
them that many who have been saluted with the huz- 
zas of the crowd one day, have received their execra- 
tions the next ; and many, who, by the popularity of 
their times, have been held up as spotless patriots, 
have, nevertheless, appeared upon the historian's page, 
when truth has triumphed over delusion, the assassins 
of liberty. 

True liberty, in my opinion, can only exist when 
justice is equally administered to all — to the king 
and to the beggar. Where is the justice, then, or 
where is the law, that protects a member of Parlia- 



186 YOUNG folks' readings. 

ment, more than any other man, from the punishment 
due to his crimes ? The laws of this country allow 
of no place, nor no employment, to be a sanctuary for 
crimes ; and where I have the honor to sit as judge, 
neither royal favor nor popular applause shall ever 
protect the guilty. L0RD Wksmmj>m 



IF I WERE A VOICE. 

IF I were a Voice, — a persuasive Voice, — 
That could travel the wide world through, 
I would fly on the beams of the morning light, 
And speak to men with a gentle might, 

And tell them to be true. 
I'd fly, I'd fly o'er land and sea, 
Wherever a human heart might be, 
Telling a tale, or singing a song, 
In praise of the Eight — in blame of the Wrong. 

If I were a Voice, — a consoling Voice, — 

I'd fly on the wings of air ; 
The homes of Sorrow and Guilt I'd seek, 
And calm and truthful words I'd speak, 

To save them from Despair. 
I'd fly, I'd fly o'er the crowded town, 
And drop, like the happy sunlight, down 
Into the hearts of suffering men, 
And teach them to rejoice again. 

If I were a Voice, — a convincing Voice, — 

I'd travel with the wind ; 
And whenever I saw the nations torn 
By warfare, jealousy, or scorn, 

Or hatred of their kind, 



THE SONG OP STEAM. 187 

Fd fly, I'd fly on the thunder-crash, 
And into their blinded bosoms flash ; 
And all their evil thoughts subdued, 
I'd teach them Christian Brotherhood. 

If I were a Voice, — a pervading Voice, — 

I'd seek the kings of earth ; 
I'd find them alone on their beds at night, 
ADd whisper words that should guide them right — 

Lessons of priceless worth. 
I'd fly more swift than the swiftest bird, 
And tell them things they never heard — 
Truths which the ages for aye repeat, 
Unknown to the statesmen at their feet. 

If I were a Voice, — an immortal Voice, — 

I'd speak in the people's ear ; 
And whenever they shouted " Liberty," 
Without deserving to be free, 

I'd make their error clear. 
I'd fly, I'd fly on the wings of day, 
Rebuking wrong on my world-wide way, 
And making all the earth rejoice — 
If I were a Voice — an immortal Voice. 

^ Chakles Mackay. 



THE SONG OF STEAM. 

HARNESS me down with your iron bands ; 
Be sure of your curb and rein ; 
For I scorn the power of your puny hands 

As the tempest scorns a chain. 
How I laughed, as I lay concealed from sight 

For many a countless hour, 
At the childish boast of human might, 
And the pride of human power ! 



188 YOUNG folks' readings. 

Ha ! ha ! ha ! They found me at last ; 

They invited me forth at length, 
And I rushed to my throne with thunder-blast, 

And laughed in my iron strength. 

! then ye saw a wondrous change 
On the earth and ocean wide, 

Where now my fiery armies range, 
Nor wait for wind or tide. 

Hurrah ! hurrah ! The waters o'er 

The mountains steep decline ; 
Time — space — have yielded to my power — 

The world ! the world is mine ! 
The rivers the sun hath earliest blest, 

Or those where his beams decline, 
The giant streams of the queenly West, 

Or the Orient floods divine. 

1 blow the bellows, I forge the steel, 

In all the shops of trade ; 
I hammer the ore, and turn the wheel, 

Where my arms of strength are made ; 
I manage the furnace, the mill, the mint ; 

I carry, I spin, I weave ; 
And all my doings I put into print 

On every Saturday eve. 

I've no muscle to weary, no breast to decay, 

No bones to be "laid on the shelf; " 
And soon I intend you may " go and play," 

While I manage the world by myself. 
But harness me down with your iron bands ; 

Be sure of your curb and rein ; 
For I scorn the strength of your puny hands, 

As the tempest scorns a chain. 



'THE WRECK OF THE HESPERUS. 189 



THE WRECK OF THE HESPERUS. 

IT was the schooner Hesperus, 
That sailed the wintry sea ; 
And the skipper had taken his little daughter, 
To bear him company. 

Blue were her eyes as the fairy flax, 
Her cheeks like the dawn of day, 

And her bosom white as the hawthorn buds, 
That ope in the month of May. 

Down came the storm, and smote amain 

The vessel in its strength — 
She shuddered and paused, like a frighted steed, 

Then leaped her cable's length. 

" Come hither! come hither! my little daughter, 

And do not tremble so, 
For I can weather the roughest gale 

That ever wind did blow." 

He wrapped her warm in his seaman's coat 

Against the stinging blast ; 
He cut a rope from a broken spar, 

And bound her to the mast. 

" 0, father ! I hear the church bells ring ; 

0, say, what may it be ? " 
" 'Tis a fog-bell on a rock-bound coast ! ; ' - — 

And he steered for the open sea. 

" 0, father ! I hear the sound of guns ; 

0, say, what may it be ? " 
" Some ship in distress, that cannot live 

In such an angry sea ! " 

" 0, father ! I see a gleaming light ; 
0, say, what may it be ? " 



190 YOUNG FOLKS' readings. 

But the father answered never a word, — 
A frozen corpse was he. 

Then the maiden clasped her hands, and prayed 

That saved she might be ; 
And she thought of Christ, who stilled the wave 

On the lake of Galilee. 

And fast through the midnight dark and drear, 
Through the whistling sleet and snow, 

Like a sheeted ghost, the vessel swept 
Towards the reef of Norman's Woe. 

To the rocks and breakers right ahead 

She drifted, a dreary wreck, 
And a whooping billow swept the crew 

Like icicles from her deck. 

She struck where the white and fleecy waves 

Looked soft as carded wool, 
But the cruel rocks they gored her side 

Like the horns of an angry bull 

At daybreak, on the bleak sea-beach, 

A fisherman stood aghast, 
To see the form of a maiden fair, 

Lashed close to a drifting mast. 

The salt sea was frozen on her breast, 

The salt tears in her eyes ; 
And he saw her hair, like the brown sea- weed, 

On the billows fall and rise. 

Such was the wreck of the Hesperus, 
In the midnight and the snow — 

Christ save us from a death like this, 
On the reef of Norman's Woe ! 

Longfellow. 



A GRECIAN FABLE. 191 



A GRECIAN FABLE. 

ONCE on a time, a son and sire, we're told, — 
The stripling tender and the father old, — 
Purchased a donkey at a country fair, 
To ease their limbs, and hawk about their ware ; 
But as the sluggish animal was weak, 
They feared, if both should mount, his back would break. 
Up got the boy ; the father plods on foot, 
And through the gazing crowd he leads the brute ; 
Forth from the crowd the graybeards hobble out, 
And hail the cavalcade with feeble shout : 
" This the respect to feeble age you show ? 
And this the duty you to parents owe ? 
He beats the hoof, and you are set astride ; 
Sirrah ! get down, and let your father ride ! " 

As Grecian lads were seldom void of grace, 
The decent, duteous youth resigned his place. 
Then a fresh murmur through the rabble ran ; 
Boys, girls, wives, widows, all attack the man : 
" Sure ne'er was brute so void of nature ! 
Have you no pity for the pretty creature ? 
To your young child can you be so unkind ? 
Here, Luke, Bill, Betty, put the child behind ! " 
Old Dapple next the clowns' compassion claimed : 
" 'Tis strange those boobies are not quite ashamed ! 
Two at a time upon a poor dumb beast ! 
They might as well have carried him, at least." 
The pair, still pliant to the partial voice, 
Dismount and bear the brute. Then what a noise ! 
Huzzas, loud laughs, low gibe, and bitter joke, 
From the yet silent sire these words provoke : 
" Proceed, my boy, nor heed their further call ; 
Vain his attempt who strives to please them all ! " 



192 YOUNG folks' readings. 

THE COMING WOMAN. 

A DIALOGUE FOR GIRLS. 
First Voice. 

jOBODY knows how I want to grow, 

How I count the days as they come and go, 
Wishing and wishing that time had wings ; 
For I've made up my mind to do great things 

When I'm a woman ! 
I won't be dull, and faded, and gray, 
And drudge in the household from day to day, 

Like some of the women I know ; 
But I mean to grow fresher every year, 
And I'll be so smart that the people here 

Shall ask how I manage so. 

Second Voice. 

When J'm a woman I mean to show 
What wonderful things a woman can know — 
I'll know French and German to write and speak, 
And I'll read all those funny old books in Greek, 

Besides what there are in Latin. 
I'll learn all about what they call " High Art ; " 
I'll have the Philosophy quite by heart, 

And Trigonometry, too. 
I won't take a minute to work or play, 
But I'll study by night, and I'll study by day, 

To show what a woman can do ! 

Third Voice. 

A writer J'll be, and I'll engage 
To write not a single stupid page ; 
But funny short stories for girls and boys, 
And songs to be sung with a good deal of noise, 
And marvellous fairy tales. 



THE COMING WOMAN. 193 

I know all the children will buy my books, 
And I'll write some, too, for the older folks, 

For the newspapers first, I guess ; 
Letters, perhaps, from over the sea, 
To tell the strange things that have happened to me, 

And how the queer people dress. 

Fourth Voice. 

Such a famous housekeeper /will be, 
That all the ladies will call to see 
How I ever make such beautiful bread ! 
For all my household shall be well fed 

When I'm a woman. 
0, the sweetest jellies and cream I'll make, 
And of daintiest puddings, and pies, and cake, 

I will always have great store ; 
My kitchen-floor shall be snowy white, 
And everything else shall be just right 

That you find inside my door. 

Fifth Voice. 

7 '11 be a lecturer, travelling about, 

When it isn't too stormy for men to get out ; 

I'll show them their sphere, and the women's, too, 

And tell the young girls what they ought to do 

When they are women. 
I'll let people see why the world goes wrong, 
And make them all hope that it won't be long 

Till women can have their way. 
Freedom to lecture, to vote, to preach, 
To "do everything now beyond our reach, 

We surely will have some day ! 

Sixth Voice. 

I '11 be a milliner, wrapped in a cloud 
Of laces and ribbons, and sought by a crowd 
13 



194 YOUNG FOLKS' readings. 

Of beautiful ladies in velvet and pearls, 

Who want exquisite hats for their dear little girls, 

In the style just fresh from Paris ! 
Such ravishing bonnets as I'll invent 
Have never been seen on this continent ! 

And, for customers to prepare them, 
I'll have dozens of girls sewing night and day, 
For fear the new fashion will grow passe 

Before folks get a chance to wear them. 

Seventh Voice. 

When /'ma woman, a teacher I'll be, 
But I hope I shan't have much company ; 
0, if committees could only know 
How glad we are when they rise to go ! 

When I'm a woman 
I expect that teachers will have great pay, 
And they won't work more than three hours a day, 

And vacations will be so long ! 
And I'll caution my scholars to take great care 
To study no more than their health will bear, 

For that would be very wrong. 

All 

When we are women, you then will see 
The useful things that women can be ; 
And though each of us in her own way tries, 
We can all be happy, and good, and wise, 

When we are women. 
But perhaps it is true that time has wings, 
And, if we would do all these wonderful things, 

We must lose not a single day. 
If our plans should go wrong, we'll have courage still, 
For we think that somehow, where we've a will, 

We shall always find a way ! 

Christian Union. 



THE AFFRAY IN KING STREET, BOSTON. 195 



THE AFFRAY IN KING STREET, BOSTON, 1770. 

SOON after the French war, which closed in 1763, 
the king and Parliament of Great Britain began to 
treat the colonies very unjustly. The British govern- 
ment, being very much in debt, wanted to raise large 
sums of money, and so determined to get a part of it 
by taxing the Americans. Now, the latter maintained 
that England had no right to tax them. 

The people of Boston were particularly excited ; 
and fearing rebellion, General Gage, the British com- 
mander, assembled two regiments of soldiers to keep 
them in awe. In the spring of 1770, quarrels occurred 
almost every day between the soldiers and the pop- 
ulace. 

A great tumult broke out, between seven and eight 
o'clock, on the evening of the 5th of March. The 
mob, armed with clubs, ran towards King Street, now 
State Street, crying, " Let us drive out these rascals ! 
They have no business here! Drive them out! Drive 
out the rascals ! " 

About this time, some one cried out that the town 
had been set on fire. Then the bells rang, and the 
crowd became greater and more noisy. They rushed 
furiously to the custom-house, and, seeing an English 
soldier stationed there, shouted, "Kill him ! kill him ! " 
The people attacked him with snowballs, pieces of ice, 
and whatever they could find. 

The sentinel called for the guard, and Captain Pres- 
ton sent a corporal with a few soldiers to defend him. 
They marched with their guns loaded, and the captain 



196 YOUNG FOLKS' readings. 

followed them. They met a crowd of the people, led 
on by a giant of a negro, named Attucks. They 
brandished their clubs, and pelted the soldiers with 
snowballs, abused them with all manner of harsh 
words, shouted in their faces, surrounded them, and 
challenged them to fire. 

They even rushed upon the points of the bayonets. 
The soldiers stood like statues, the bells ringing, and 
the mob pressing upon them. At last, Attucks, with 
twelve of his men, began to strike upon their muskets 
with clubs, and cried out to the multitude, " Don't be 
afraid ! They dare not fire — the miserable cowards ! 
Kill the rascals ! Crush them under foot ! M 

Attucks lifted his arm against Captain Preston, and 
seized upon a bayonet. " They dare not fire !" shouted 
the mob again. At this instant the firing began. The 
negro dropped dead upon the ground. The soldiers 
fired twice more. Three men were killed, and others 
were wounded. The mob dispersed, but soon returned 
to carry off the bodies. 

The whole town was now in an uproar. Thousands 
of men, women, and children rushed through the 
streets. The sound of drums, and cries of, " To arms! 
to arms ! " were heard from all quarters. The soldiers 
who had fired on the people were arrested, and the 
governor at last persuaded the multitude to go home 
quietly. 



TIT FOE TAT. 197 



TIT FOR TAT. 

A MIGHTY elephant, that swelled the state 
Of Aurengzebe the Great, 
One day was taken by his driver 
To drink and cool him in the river ; 
The driver on his neck was seated ; 
And, as he rode along, 
By some acquaintance in the throng, 
With a ripe cocoa-nut was treated. 

A cocoa-nut's a pretty fruit enough, 

But guarded by a shell both hard and tough ; 

The fellow tried, and tried, and tried, 

Working and sweating, 

Fuming and fretting, 
To find out the inside, 
And pick the kernel for his eating. 

At length, quite out of patience grown, 
" Who'll reach me up," he cries, " a stone, 

To break this tough old shell ? 
But stay ; I've here a solid bone 

May do perhaps as well." 
So, half in earnest, half in jest, 
He banged it on the forehead of the beast. 

An elephant, they say, has human feeling, 

And full as well as we he knows 

The difference between words and blows, 
Between horse-play and civil dealing ; 
Use him but well, he'll do his best 

To serve you faithfully and truly ; 
But insults unprovoked he can't digest , 

He studies o'er them, and repays them duly. 



198 YOUNG FOLKS' headings. 

To make my head an anvil, thought the creature, 
Was never, certainly, the will of Nature ; 
So, master mine, you may repent ; 
Then shaking his broad ears, away he went ; 
The driver took him to the water, 
And thought no more about the matter ; 
The elephant within his memory hid it ; 
.He felt the wrong, the other only did it. 

A week or two elapsed ; one market day, 
Again the beast and driver took their way ; 
Through rows of shops and booths they passed, 

With eatables and trinkets stored, 
Till to a gardener's stall they came at last, 

Where cocoa-nuts lay piled upon the board. 
" Ha ! " thought the elephant, " 'tis now my turn 

To show this method of nut breaking ; 
My friend above will like to learn, 

Though at the cost of a head-aching;" 

Then in his curling trunk he took a heap, 

And waved it o'er his neck with sudden sweep, 

And on the hapless driver's sconce 
He laid a blow, so hard and full, 

He cracked the nuts at once, 
But, at the same time, cracked the poor man's skull. 

Young folks, whene'er you feel inclined 
To rompish sports and freedom rough, 

Bear tit for tat in mind ; 

Nor give an elephant a cuff, 

To be repaid in kind. 



TO WHOM SHALL WE GIYE THANKS? 199 



TO WHOM SHALL WE GIYE THANKS? 

A LITTLE boy had sought the pump 
From whence the sparkling water burst, 
And drank with eager joy the draught 

That kindly quenched his raging thirst. 
Then gracefully he touched his cap — 
" I thauk you, Mr. Pump/' he said, 
" For this nice drink you've given me ! " 
(This little boy had been well bred.) 

Then said the Pump, " My little man, 

You're welcome to what I have done ; 
But I am not the one to thank — 

I only help the water run." 
" 0, then/' the little fellow said 

(Polite he always meant to be), 
" Cold Water, please accept my thanks ; 

You have been very kind to me." 

" Ah ! " said Cold Water, " don't thank me ; 

Far up the hill-side lives the Spring 
That sends me forth with generous hand 

To gladden every living thing." 
" I'll thank the Spring, then," said the boy, 

And gracefully he bowed his head. 
"0, don't thank me, my little man," 

The Spring with silvery accents said. 

" 0, don't thank me ; for what am I 

Without the dew and summer rain ? 
Without their aid I ne'er could quench 

Your thirst, my little boy, again." 
" 0, well, then," said the little boy, 

V I'll gladly thank the Rain and Dew." 
" Pray, don't thank us — without the sun 

We could not fill one cup for you." 



200 YOUNG FOLKS 7 READINGS. 

" Then, Mr. Sun, ten thousand thanks 

For all that you have done for me." 
" Stop ! " said the Sun, with blushing- face ; 

". My little fellow, don't thank me : 
? Twas from the ocean's mighty stores 

I drew the draught I gave to thee. 7 ' 
" 0, Ocean, thanks, then ! " said the boy — 

It echoed back, " Not unto me. 

" Not unto me ; but unto Him 

Who formed the depths in which I lie ; 
Go, give thy thanks, my little boy, 

To Him who will thy wants supply." 
The boy took off his cap, and said, 
In tones so gentle and subdued, 
" God, I thank Thee for this gift ; 
Thou art the Giver of all good." 



THE DYNMOUTH FISHERMAN. 

A TERRIFIC storm was raging on the wild coast 
of North Devonshire, and the Dynmouth life- 
boat was preparing to put out to a ship which, at 
some distance from the land, was making signals of 
distress. 

" One more man is wanted — who will go ? " was 
shouted above the roar of the wind and waves. 

" I will ! " And a Dynmouth fisher-lad started forth 
from a crowd of anxious spectators grouped upon the 
beach. 

The cry was taken up by the excited bystanders, 
u Will Carew — he will go ! He can pull an oar with 
the best man in the boat ! " 



THE DYNMOUTH FISHEKMAN. 201 

But just then a woman, pale as death, her olack hair 
blown wildly back by the tempest, darted after him, 
and with a shriek caught the youth by the flap of his 
sailor's jacket. 

" Mother ! mother ! " he said, " don't be foolish now ! 
There's nobody else to go — don't you see ? " 

But the woman, having stopped him, flung herself 
on his neck. 

" 0, my Will ! my poor fatherless boy ! How can I 
let you go ? You are all I have ! The dreadful sea ! 
Think of your father, and have pity on me ! " And she 
sobbed and clung in an agony of distress. 

Only a few months before, her husband, a brave and 
skillful fisherman, had gone out to pull his trawls, been 
overtaken by a violent storm, and never been heard 
from more. Only the broken pieces of his boat drift- 
ing upon the shore had brought her the dismal tidings 
of his fate. She had not yet recovered from the shock 
of that dreadful event; and now their boy — the brave 
Will, in whom all her affections, all her hopes, were 
centred — was going to risk his life upon the same 
treacherous, awful deep. . 

The spectators looked with compassionate respect 
upon her grief; and some one muttered, "The old wife 
is daft ; and no wonder ! Let somebody else go ! " 

But Will, who would not tear himself from her cling- 
ing arms by force, said kindly and earnestly, — 

u The boat is waiting ! 0, mother, it is not the 
time for selfish sorrow. Think of the lives in that 
wrecked vessel ! It may go to pieces at any moment, 
and we may be too late to save them." 

" Can I let you ? — can I ? 0, my brave boy, you 
are right, I know ! There are men on board that ship 



202 YOUNG folks' headings. 

as dear to their friends, perhaps, as your father was 
to us. And they may be saved — as he could not be ! 
Go, go, my boy ! and Heaven preserve you ! " 

Clasping her hands together as if to keep them from 
holding him back, she looked on in agony while he 
leaped aboard the boat, which was already pushing 
off, seized an oar, and pulled hastily away out into the 
darkness of the storm and the gathering night. 

The widow watched the tossing boat disappear in 
the light of the beacon-fire, which shot its ruddy glare 
over the breakers ; then suffered herself to be led away 
by kind neighbors to her desolate cottage, where she 
was left alone to struggle with her old sorrow and her 
new fear. 

Some of those who remained on the shore to watch 
for the boat, — for it contained other lives as precious 
as Will's, — had promised to give her instant warning 
of its safe return ; and suddenly in the dead of night 
came a loud knock on her door, and a shout, — 

" They are coming back ! the boat has lived through 
a terrible sea, and now if she pulls through the break- 
ers again she is safe ! " 

The speaker disappeared in the storm ; and the 
widow, who was at the door at the first sound of his 
voice, ran out after him, in the direction of the 
beacon-fire. 

She was just in time to hear cries of welcome and 
triumph, and see the boat seized and dragged upon 
the shore, out of the jaws of the last foaming wave. 

In a minute Will was half stifled in his mother's 
wild embrace. 

"You are safe : thank God! thank God!" she sobbed. 

" All safe, mother," Will replied. " And we have 



' THE DYNMOUTH FISHERMAN. 203 

brought off every one of the crew from the wreck — 
we picked up the last man after he had been swept 
off by a wave into the sea. They are lifting him from 
the boat now ; for he was exhausted and nearly 
drowned. Shall he be taken to our house ? " 

" 0, yes ! and Heaven be praised that he — that you, 
and all are saved ! What do I hear — what do I hear, 
Will?" 

Will, standing in the light of the beacon-fire, watch- 
ing anxiously his mother's face and the excited group 
about the boat, replied, — 

" There are some who know him ; he was once a 
Dynmouth fisherman. 0, mother ! mother ! don't go 
down there yet — wait till I tell you ! " 

Will was strangely agitated, as, keeping between his 
mother and the group, he went on : — 

" I saved him with my own hands — caught him by 
the hair as he was drifting by. It was after he had 
revived a little that we found out who he was. He 
went out from Dynmouth once in his fishing-boat — 
was lost in a storm — picked up by a brig bound on a 
foreign voyage — and now, on his way home, another 
storm — 0, mother ! since he was saved, may not my 
own father have been picked up, too. I sprang before 
to tell you — " 

Will tried to hold her back ; but just then the red 
light of the beacon fell upon the face of the rescued 
man, as he staggered towards her, half supported by 
two of his old neighbors. 

11 My husband 1 " And with a piercing scream of 
joy she flew to receive in her arms the long- lost man, 
who had that night been saved from' a second peril of 
death by the hands of his own son. 



204 YOUNG folks' headings. 



THREE LITTLE NEST-BIRDS. 



W ] 



E meant to be very kind ; 

But if ever we find 

Another soft, gray-green, feather-lined 

Nest in a hedge, 

We have taken a pledge, — 
Susan, Jemmy, and I, — with remorseful tears at this 

very minute, 
That if there are eggs or little birds in it, — 
Robin or wren, thrush, chaffinch, or linnet, — 

We'll leave them there 

To their mother's care. 

There were three of us, — Kate and Susan and Jem, — 

And three of them. 
I don't know their names, for they couldn't speak, 
Except with a little imperative squeak 

Exactly like Poll, 

Susan's squeaking doll ; 
But squeaking dolls will lie on the shelves 
For years, and never squeak of themselves. 
The reason we like little birds so much better than toys 
Is because they are really alive, and know how to make 
a noise. 

There were three of us, and three of them, — 

Kate — that is, I — and Susan and Jem. 

Our mother was busy making a pie ; 

And theirs we think was up in the sky. 

But, for all Susan, Jemmy, or I can tell, 

She may have been getting their dinner as well. 

They were left to themselves (and so were we) 

In a nest in the hedge by the willow-tree ; 

And when we caught sight of three red little fluff-tufted, 

hazel-eyed, open-mouthed, pink-throated heads, 

we all shouted for glee. 



' THREE LITTLE NEST-BIRDS. 205 

The way we really did wrong was this : 

We took them for mother to kiss ; 

And she told us to put them back, 

While out on the weeping-willow their mother was cry- 
ing, " Alack ! " 

We really heard 

Both what mother told us to do, and the voice of the 
mother-bird : 

But we three — that is, Susan and I and Jem — 

Thought we knew better than either of them ; 

And in spite of our mother's command and the poor 
bird's cry, 

We determined to bring up her three little nestlings our- 
selves on the sly. 



We each took one. 

It did seem such excellent fun ! 
Susan fed hers on milk and bread. 
Jem got wriggling worms for his instead. 

I gave mine meat ; 
For, you know, I thought, " Poor darling pet ! why 

shouldn't it have roast-beef to eat ? " 
But, dear ! dear ! dear ! how we cried, 
When, in spite of milk and bread, and worms and roast- 
beef, the little birds died ! 



It's a terrible thing to have heart-ache ! 

I thought mine would break 

As I heard the mother-bird's moan, 

And looked at the gray-green, moss-coated, feather-lined 

nest she had taken such pains to make ; 
And her three little children dead and cold as a stone ! 
Mother said, — and it's sadly true, — 
" There are some wrong things one can never undo ; " 
And nothing that we could do or say 
Would bring back life to the birds that day. 



206 

The bitterest tears that we could weep 

Wouldn't waken them out of their stiff, cold sleep : 
But then 

We — Susan and Jem and I — mean never to be so self- 
ish and wilful and cruel again ; 

And we three have buried that other three 

In a soft, green, moss-covered, flower-lined grave at the 
foot of the willow-tree ; 

And all the leaves which its branches shed 

We think are tears because they are dead. 



ANGER AND ENUMERATION. 

AD ANBURY man, named Reubens, recently saw 
a statement, that counting one hundred when 
tempted to speak an angry word would save a man 
a great deal of trouble. This statement sounded a 
little singular at first, but the more he read it over 
the more favorably he became impressed with it, and 
finally concluded to adopt it. 

Next door to Reubens lives a man who has made 
five distinct attempts in the past fortnight to secure 
a dinner of green peas by the first of July, and every 
time has been retarded by Reubens' hens. The next 
morning after Reubens made his resolution, this man 
found his fifth attempt to have miscarried. Then he 
called on Reubens. He said, — 

" What in thunder do you mean by letting your 
hens tear up my garden ? " 

Reubens was prompted to call him a mud-snoot, — 
a new name just coming into general use, — but he 
remembered his resolution put down his rage, and 
meekly observed, — 



ANGER AND ENUMERATION. 207 

" One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight — " 

Then the mad neighbor, who had been eying this 
answer with a great deal of suspicion, broke in 
again, — 

" Why don't you answer my question, you rascal ? " 

But still Reubens maintained his equanimity, and 
went on with the test. 

" Nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fif- 
teen, sixteen — " 

The mad neighbor stared harder than ever. 

" Seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty, twenty- 
one — " 

" You're a mean skunk ! " said the mad neighbor, 
backing towards the fence. 

Reuben's face flushed at this charge, but he only 
said, — 

" Twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty- 
five, twenty -six — " 

At this figure the neighbor got up on the fence in 
some haste, but suddenly thinking of his peas, he 
opened his mouth, — 

" You mean, low-lived rascal ! For two cents I 
could knock your cracked head over a barn, and I 
would — " 

" Tweniy-seven, twenty-eight," interrupted Reu- 
bens, " twenty -nine, thirty, thirty-one, thirty-two, 
thirty-three — " 

Here the neighbor broke for the house, ^ind entering 
it, violently slammed the door behind him ; but Reu- 
bens did not dare let up on the enumeration, and so 
he stood out there alone in his own yard, and kept on 
counting, while his burning cheeks and flashing eyes 
eloquently affirmed his judgment. When he got up 



208 YOUNG folks' readings. 

into the eighties, his wife came to the door in some 
alarm. 

" Why, Reubens, man, what is the matter with 
you ? " she said. " Do come into the house." 

But he didn't let up. She came out to him, and 
clung tremblingly to him, but he only looked into her 
eyes, and said — 

" Ninety-three, ninety-four, ninety-five, ninety-six, 
ninety-seven, ninety-eight, ninety-nine, one hundred 
— go into the house, old woman, or I'll bust ye ! " 

And she went. 

James M. Bailbx. 



KING CHRISTIAN THE DANE. 

HEARKEN while I sing 
A song of a Danish King, — 
Christian the Fifth, and the best ; 
He wore, in shade and in sun, 
The Cross of the Crucified One 
On his mailed breast. 

He was a sailor brave ; 

And he drove on the ocean wave 

Before the storms of the Lord, — 
The crown of the land on his head, 
On his breast the symbol of red, 

By his side the sword. 

Wild blew the winter gale, 
Rending at shroud and sail 

With a storm of snow and sleet ; 
And crouching like birds in fear 
When the hawk of the hill swoops near, 

Lay the Danish fleet. 



KING CHRISTIAN THE DANE. 209 

At anchor like birds they lay, 
In a foul and open bay, 

Each with a folded wing ; 
But out in the tempest's brawl, 
In the noblest ship of all, 

Stood Christian the King. 

Black came the winter night, 
But the foam was driving white, 

And the breakers flashed ashore ; 
And now and again overhead, 
The electric forks ran red 

To the thunder's roar. 

Down through the narrow sound 
Flying, bound upon bound, 

Blown by the shrieking wind, 
The ship fled, straining sore, 
With the fatal rocks before 

And the storm behind. 

Then into the open bay, 
Where the ships at anchor lay 

She drove with tattered sail ; 
Loudly the thunder rung — 
The steersman shouted, and swung 
Her head to the gale. 

Swift as thought, from her bow 
They have hurled the anchor now, 

Huge and black and strong. 
What's this ? The men turn pale — 
Sideways before the gale 

She is driven along ! 

" Oast forth anchor ! " they cry, — 
And the lightning from the sky 
Illumes them with its flash. 
14 



210 YOUNG folks' readings. 

The great masts bend and groan — 
The second anchor is thrown 
And sink's with a splash. 

Leaning against the mast, 

While the fluke is loosened and cast, 

The King stands still and pale. 
Hark ! what is this they say ? 
Still she is dragging away 

With the breath of the gale ! 

All that remaineth, all, 

Is an anchor light and small, 

And a warp of hempen rope : — 
" What booteth to cast it out ? " 
The affrighted sailors shout, 

And abandon hope. 

Then loud o'er the storm doth ring 
The voice of Christian the King : 

" Nay — cast it overboard ! 
God made all things that be — 
Yea, cast it into the sea, 

In the name of the Lord ! " 

'Tis done ! All hold their breath — 
For the foam-white eyes of death 

Flash to a sullen sound — 
What's this ? They raise their hands — 
She swings to the gale, and stands, 

For it grips the ground ! 

A hundred yards from land 
Behold the good ship stand, 

Held by that anchor small ! — 
Ah, who shall answer " Nay," 
When He on the Throne says " Yea," 

Being Lord of all ? 



THE BRAHMIN AND THE TIGER. 211 

Honor to Christian the King ! 
Who knew that a little thing 

May serve when the mightiest fail. 
Honor to Christian the Dane ! 
For he trusted the Lord of the main 

And the wind and the gale ! 

When thou despairest, sing 
This song of a Christian King, 

And the Danish ship he trod. 
Have great things failed thee so ? — 
Trust to the smallest, and throw 

In the name of God ! 



THE BRAHMIN AND THE TIGER. 

A HINDOO STORY. 

A TIGER, prowling in a forest, was attracted by a 
bleating calf. It proved to be a bait, and the 
tiger found himself trapped in a spring cage. There 
he lay for two days, when a Brahmin happened to pass 
that way. 

" 0, Brahmin ! " piteously cried the beast, " have 
mercy on me ; let me out of this cage." 

" Ah ! but you will eat me." 

" Eat you ! Devour my benefactor? Never could 
I be guilty of such a deed," responded the tiger. 

The Brahmin, being benevolently inclined, was 
moved by these entreaties and opened the door of the 
cage. The tiger walked up to him, wagged his tail, 
and said, — 



212 YOUNG folks' readings. 

" Brahmin, prepare to die ; I shall now eat you." 

" how ungrateful ! how wicked ! Did I not save 
your life ? " protested the trembling priest. 

" True," said the tiger, " very true ; but it is the 
custom of my race to eat a man when we get a chance, 
and I cannot afford to let you go." 

" Let us submit the case to an arbitrator," said the 
Brahmin. " Here comes the fox. The fox is wise ; 
let us abide by his decision." 

" Yery well," replied the tiger. 

The fox, assuming a judicial aspect, sat on his 
haunches with all the dignity he could muster, and, 
looking at the disputants, he said, — 

" G-ood friends, I am somewhat confused at the dif- 
ferent accounts which you give of this matter; my 
mind is not clear enough to render equitable judgment, 
but if you will be kind enough to act the whole trans- 
action before my eyes, I shall attain unto a more def- 
inite conception of the case. Do you, Mr. Tiger, show 
me just how you approached and entered the cage, 
and then you, Mr. Brahmin, show me how you liber- 
ated him, and I shall be able to render a proper de- 
cision." 

They assented, for the fox was solemn and oracular. 
The tiger walked into the cage, the spring door fell 
and shut him in. He was a prisoner. The judicial 
expression faded from the fox's countenance, and, 
turning to the Brahmin, he said, — 

" I advise you to go home as fast as you can, and 
abstain, in future, from doing favors to rascally tigers. 
Good morning, Brahmin ; good morning, tiger." 



JINGLES. 213 



JINGLES. 



WHO can tell what a baby thinks, 
When it wakes from its forty winks, 
And rubs its face into numerous kinks, 
And stares at the light that comes in at the chinks 
Of its rockaby nest, and gapes and blinks, — 
Who can tell what a baby thinks ? 

Who has courage to venture a guess 
As to what the baby may think of its dress, 
Trimmed and ruffled to such excess ? 
Or what the baby may think of the mess 
For headache, and toothache, and stomach distress, 
And for all its ailings, more or less ? 

What does it think when it wakes at night, 

With all the pretty thing-s out of sight, 

With nobody stirring and " making a light w ? 

Does it think its condition is far from right, 

And that big folks are not at all polite, 

And treat their visitors far from right, 

And that darkness is meant for a personal slight ? 

Is that the reason it takes delight 

In screaming with all its personal might, 

And rousing the neighbors at dead of night ? 

And what do you think that the baby thinks ? 
Looking about like a mild-eyed lynx, 
Watching the spoon that tinkles and clinks, 
While papa is warming its catnip drinks 
Over a candle that glimmers and blinks, 
Humming and drumming out " Captain Jinks," 
That the children skate to now at the rinks, — 
What do you think that the baby thinks ? 



214 



YOUNG FOLKS 7 EEADINGS. 



Did you say that babies are thinkless things, 
With no other light than what instinct brings ; 
With brains as downy as butterflies' wings, 
And heads as empty as a bell that swings 
Over and under, and rings, and sings 
When muscular motion is moving the strings ? 
Did you say that babies are thinkless things ? 
Then when does the thing begin to grow ? 
And when does the mind begin to show ? 
And when does the baby begin to know 
That this is true, or that is so ? . 

Say, when you find out, please let me know. 

Examiner and Chronicle. 



PRAYEB AND POTATOES. 



[" If a brother or sister be naked, and destitute of daily food, and 
one of you say unto them, Depart in peace, be ye warmed and filled, 
notwithstanding ye give them not those things which are needful to 
the body, what doth it profit? " — James ii. 15, 18.] 

AN old lady sat in her old arm-chair, 
With wrinkled visage and dishevelled hair, 
And hunger-worn features, 
For days and for weeks her only fare, 
As she sat in her old arm-chair, 
Had been potatoes. 

But now they were gone : of bad or good 
Not one was left for the old lady's food 

Of those potatoes. 
And she sighed, and said, " What shall I do ? 
Where shall I send, and to whom shall I go 

For more potatoes ? " 



PRAYER AND POTATOES. 215 

And she thought of the deacon over the way, 
The deacon so ready to worship and pray, 

Whose cellar was full of potatoes. 
She said, " I will send for the deacon to come ; 
He'll not much mind to give me some 

Of such a store of potatoes." 

And the deacon came over as fast as he could, 
Thinking to do the old lady some good, 

But never for once of potatoes. 
He asked her at once what was her chief want : 
And she, simple soul, expecting a grant, 

Immediately answered, " Potatoes." 

But the deacon's religion didn't lie that way ; 
He was more accustomed to preach and to pray 

Than to give his hoarded potatoes. 
So, not hearing, of course, what the old lady said, 
He rose to pray, with uncovered head : 

But she only thought of potatoes. < 

He prayed for patience, goodness, and grace ; 
But when he prayed, " Lord, give her peace," 

She audibly sighed, " Give potatoes." 
And at the end of each prayer which he said, 
He heard, or thought he heard, in its stead, 

That same request for potatoes. 

The deacon was troubled, knew not what to do ; 
'Twas very embarrassing to have her act so, 

And about those carnal potatoes. 
So, ending his prayers, he started for home ; 
The door closed behind ; he heard a deep groan : 

" 0, give to the hungry potatoes ! " 

And the groan followed him all the way home ; 

In the midst of the night it haunted his room : 

" 0, give to the hungry potatoes ! " 



216 YOUNG folks' readings. 

He could bear it no longer ; arose and dressed, 
From his well-filled cellar taking in haste 
A bag of his best potatoes. 

Again he went to the widow's lone hut ; 
Her sleepless eyes she had not yet shut ; 
But there she sat in the old arm-chair, 
With the same wan features, same wan air. 
And entering in, he poured on the floor 
A bushel or more from his goodly store 
Of choicest potatoes. 

The widow's heart leaped up for joy ; 
Her face was pale and haggard no more. 
" Now," said the deacon, " shall we pray ? " 
" Yes," said the widow, " now you may." 
And he knelt him down on the sanded floor, 
Where he had poured out his goodly store, 
And such a praj^er the deacon prayed 
As never before his lips essayed. 
No longer embarrassed, but free and full, 
He poured out the voice of a liberal soul ; 
And the widow responded a loud " Amen ! " 
But said no more of potatoes. 

And would you who hear this simple tale, 
Pray for the poor, and praying, prevail ? 
Then preface your prayer with alms and good deeds ; 
Search out the poor, their wants and needs ; 
Pray for their peace and grace, spiritual food, 
For wisdom and guidance — all these are good ; 
But don't forget the potatoes ! 



MICE AT PLAY. 217 



MICE AT PLAY. 



FOUR children sat around a wood-fire, in an old- 
fashioned country house. The red embers blazed 
up merrily, and showed four flushed little faces, four 
very tangled heads of hair, eight bright, merry eyes, 
and — I regret extremely to add — eight very dirty 
little hands, belonging, respectively, to Bess, Bob, 
Archie, and Tom. Mamma was away, you may be 
sure. _ If she were at home, the children would have 
made a very different appearance. yes, indeed, 
quite and entirely different. 

The round table was wheeled in front of the fire, 
and the student lamp in the centre shed its light on 
Tom's letter, which he was writing to his mother. 

Archie was leaning back in the large chair ; his arm, 
which he had broken in riding the trick mule of the 
circus the day before, was in a splint ; but, judging 
from the rapid disappearance of the gingerbread on 
the plate near him, it is to be doubted if new cider, trick 
mules, or broken arms seriously impair the appetite. 

" Bess, stop jogging the table ! How on earth can 
a fellow write with you around ? " 

" Read what you've written," said Bess. 

"Yes, do," chimed in Archie. They were both 
anxious to know what account their mother would 
receive of their performance. 

"Wait till it's done," answered Tom. Writing a 
letter was no joke for Thomas Bradley, junior. 

" How on earth do you spell circus ? " he asked. 

" S-u-r-k-e-ss," answered Bess, promptly. 



218 YOUNG FOLKS' readings. 

" No you don't," cried Tom. " I know better." 

" If you know so much, why do you ask ? " retorted 
Bess. 

" 0, come, Bess ! do think, can't you ? " 

" There is a c in it," put in Archie : " for I saw the 
big red-and-blue posters in the village, and I know 
there was a c in circus." 

" Then it's c-i-r-k-i-s," said Bess. 

" Yes ; I guess that's right," said Tom, thoughtfully, 
writing the word, and then holding his head back from 
the paper, first on one side and then on the other, to 
see if it looked natural. 

" I'm not exactly sure," he said, at last. " It looks 
kinder queer. And mamma does make such a row if 
I don't spell right ! What's the use in spelling, any 
way ? If the folks know what you mean, that's 
enough — oneway is as good as another. Pshaw!" 
he continued, " I don't believe it is right. See here, 
Bob! you're a first-rate little boy — a real, regular 
first-rate good boy, you are." 

" If it's up- stairs, I won't," declared Bob, who 
knew that flattery always preceded errands. Bob 
was one of the kind who learned by experience. 

" 0, yes, Bobby ! That's a lovely harness you've 
made for pussy. I couldn't have done better myself. 
You know where my dictionary is, up in my room, on 
the table. Run along and get it, — that's a good boy." 

Bob kept on with his work. 

" Come, Bobby," said Tom, encouragingly. 

" Go yourself," was Bob's polite suggestion. 

" 0, I'm so tired. I've done nothing but run for 
doctors all day long. Come, Bob, I'll tell mamma 
what a good boy you are if you will." 



MICE AT PLAY. 219 

" Won't you tell her I dropped the teapot down the 
well ? " asked Bob. 

" 0, did you ? " cried Tom, Bess, and Archie, all in 
a breath. 

Bob nodded his head, and looked at them all with a 
calm stare. 

" Which one ? " asked the three children, anxiously. 

" The big silver one," said Bob. 

" How ? Why ? What were you doing with it ? " 

" The gardener wouldn't lend me the watering-pot, 
and I wanted to water my garden, so I just thought 
that would do instead ; and I went to fill it at the 
well, and the bucket hit it right over into the well. It 
was the bucket's fault. I ain't to blame." 

" Whe-e-ew ! " at last whistled Tom. 

" If you won't tell mamma, I'll go for your book," 
said Bob. 

" Well, I won't tell her in this letter, any way." 

" Don't tell her at all," insisted Bob. 

w If you don't go right off and get it, I'll write it 
this moment." 

" I'll go, I'll go ! " cried Bob. 

" That's the worst scrape yet," said Bess. a For if I 
did get lost, I was found again; and if I did tear my 
clothes, they are all mended now ; and if Archie did 
break his arm, he's got it mended now, too ; but the 
teapot ! That's dropped down the well, and there 
it is." 

Bessie's argument was convincing. There was no 
more to be said. 

After a while, Tom's letter was finished, and ran as 
follows : — 



220 YOUNG folks' readings. 

" Dear Mamma : I wish you was home. We have 
dun a good menny bad things. Bess got lost in the 
woods, and most drowned in Rainy Pond. I shot Kate 
thru the head with a squirt of water, and most killed 
her. Archie broke his arm trying to wride the trik 
mule at the curkis. Bob has dun worst of all ; but I 
sed I woodn't tel that. Bob has dun a dredful thing ; 
but I sed I woodn't tel, so I won't. It's orful. Papa 
is very good to us, and don't make us wash too much. 
The bred is orful : Maggy is cross. But we're all wel, 
except Archy's arm, and Dr. Jarvis says if he don't 
get fever he wil get wel. 

" Your loveing son, Tom. 

" P. S. You wil feel orful bad about what Bob's 
dun." 

The next morning all four children were gathered 
around the well, at the bottom of which lay the silver 
teapot. 

" I see it, I see it ! " cried Tom, eagerly. " It's 
down at the bottom." 

" Did you suppose it would float ? " asked Bess. 

11 Let me see," cried Bob. 

" You clear out," said Archie ; " you've made all 
this mischief. You'd better go before you tumble in 
yourself, you little goose. I can't go after it, with my 
broken arm." 

" Now, I suppose we will hear of nothing but your 
broken arm for a month, and you'll shirk everything 
for it. ' I can't study 'cause my arm's broken ; I can't 
go errands 'cause my arm's broken; I can't go to 
church 'cause my arm's broken ; ' that will be your 
whim, Archie ; but don't try your dodges on me, for I 



MICE AT PLAY. 221 

won't stand it. If it really hurts you, I'm sorry, and 
I'll lick any fellow that touches you till you get well 
again ; but none of your humbug. Of course you can't 
go down the well, you couldn't if your arm wasn't 
broken." 

Meanwhile Bess had gone to the house for a long 
fishing-pole, and soon returned carrying it. 

" We'll fasten a hook to the end of it, and fish the 
teapot up," said she. 

" Ho, ho ! Do you suppose it will bite like a fish ? " 
laughed Tom. 

" No, I do not, Tom Bradley. But I suppose if I 
tie a string to the pole, and fasten an iron hook to one 
end, that I can wiggle it round in the water till the 
hook catches in the handle, and then we can draw it 
up. That's what I suppose." 

" There's something in that, Bess. Let me try." 

" No ; go and get one for yourself." 

" But where can I find one ? " 

" In the smoke-house, where I got mine." 

" 0, get me one, too," cried Bob. 

tl And me one, too," cried Archie. 

Before half an hour had passed, the four children, 
all armed with fishing-poles, were intently wiggling 
in the water, catching their hooks in the stones by the 
side of the well, entangling their lines, digging their 
elbows into each other's sides, in their frantic attempts 
to pull their hooks loose, scolding, pushing, and get- 
ting generally excited. 

Every few minutes Tom would pull Bess back by 
her sun-bonnet, and save her from tumbling over in 
her eagerness ; but so far from being grateful to her 
deliverer, Bess resented the treatment indignantly. 



222 YOUNG folks' readings. 

" Stop jerking my head so ! " she cried. 

u You'll be in, in a minute ; you'd have been in 
then, if I hadn't jerked you," answered Tom. 

" Well, what if I had ? Let me alone. If I go in, 
that's my own lookout." 

" Your own look in, you mean. My gracious ! 
wouldn't you astonish the toads down there ! But 
you'd get your face clean." 

" Now, Tom, you let me be. I 'most had it that 
time." 

" So you've said forty times. This is all humbug. 
I'm going down on the rope for it." 

" 0, no, Tom, please don't. Indeed you'll be 
drowned; the rope will break; you'll kill yourself; 
you'll catch cold," cried Bess, in alarm. 

" Pooh ! girl ! coward ! " retorted thankless Tom. 
" Who's afraid of what ? Stand back, small boys, I'm 
going in." 

" You'll poison the water," suggested Archie. 

" It will be so cold," moaned Bob. 

" I'll scream for a hundred years without stopping, 
Tom," cried Bess, wildly. " You shan't go down — 
you shan't ; I'll call some one. Murray ! Peter ! Mag- 
gie ! c-o-o-o-o-o-o-me ! 0-o-o-o-h, c-o-o-o-o-o-me ! " 

" Stop screaming, and help. Now, do you three 
hold on tight to this bucket ; don't let go for a mo- 
ment ; pull away as hard as you can when I tell you 
to. Now for it." 

And, without more ado, Tom clung to the other 
rope with his hands, and twisted his feet around the 
bucket-handle. 

" Hold on tight, and let me down easy," said Tom, 
and the three children lowered him little by little. 



MICE AT PLAY. 223 

A sudden splash and shiver told them he had 
reached water, and a shout of triumph declared that 
the teapot was rescued. 

As Tom shouted, all the children let go the rope, 
and rushed to the side of the well to look at the vic- 
torious hero. 

It was a most fortunate circumstance that the water 
in the well was low. As it was, he stood in the cold 
water up to his shoulders. 

" What made you let go ? " roared Tom. 

" 0, Tom, have you got it ? Have you really ? 
Ain't it cold ? Are you hurt ? Were you scared ? 
Is the teapot broken?" 

" Draw me up !■ You silly children ! You goose of 
a Bess ! Why don't you draw me up ? " 

" I will, Tom ; I'm going to," answered Bess. 

But all the united efforts could not raise Tom. 

" I'll run next door and call Mr. Wilson," said Bess, 
hopefully, and started. 

.As Bess ran, she was suddenly stopped at the gate 
by the sight of a carriage which had just driven up, 
and out of which now stepped Aunt Maria and Aunt 
Maria's husband, Uncle Daniel. These were the very 
grimmest and grandest of all the relations. 

For one awful moment Bess stood stunned. Then 
her anxiety for Tom overcame every other considera- 
tion, and before Aunt Maria could say, " How do you 
do, Elizabeth?" she had caught her uncle by his 
august coat-tail, and, in a piteous voice, besought him 
to come and pull on the rope. 

" Pull on a rope, Elizabeth ! " said Uncle Daniel, 
who was a very slow man j " why should I pull on a 
rope, my dear ? " 



224 YOUNG folks' readings. 

* 0, come quick ! hurry faster ! Tom 's down in the 
well ! " cried Bess. 

" Tom down a well ! How did he get there ? " 

11 He went down for the teapot," sobbed Bess ; 
" the silver teapot, and we can't pull him up again ; 
and he's cramped with cold. 0, do hurry ! " 

Uncle Daniel leisurely looked down at Tom. Then 
he slowly took off his coat, and as slowly carried it 
into the house, stopped to give an order to his coach- 
man, came with measured pace to the three frightened 
children; then took hold of the rope, gave a long, 
strong, calm pull, and in an instant, Tom, " dripping 
with coolness, arose from the well." 



THE PETRIFIED FERN. 

IN a valley, centuries ago, 
Grew a little fern leaf, green and slender, 
Veining delicate, and fibres tender, 
Waving when the wind crept down so low : 
Rushes tall, and moss and grass grew round it, 
Playful sunbeams darted in and found it, 
Drops of dew stole in by night and crowned it, 
But no foot of man e'er trod that way ; 
Earth was young, and keeping holiday. 

Monster fishes swam the silent main, 

Stately forests waved their giant branches, 
Mountains hurled their snowy avalanches, 

Mammoth creatures stalked across the plain ; 
Nature revelled in grand mysteries ; 
But the little fern was not one of these, 
Did not number with the hills and trees ; 
Only grew and waved its sweet, wild way ; 
No one came to note it day by day. 



' THE BLACKSMITH'S STORY. 225 

Earth one time put on frolic mood, 

Heaved the rocks, and changed the mighty motion 

Of the deep, strong currents of the ocean ; 
Moved the plain, shook the haughty wood, 

Crushed the little fern in soft, moist clay ; 

Covered it, and hid it safe away. 

0, the long, long centuries since that day ! 

0, the agony ! 0, life's bitter cost, 

Since that useless little fern was lost ! 

Useless ? Lost ? There came a thoughtful man, 
Searching out Nature's secrets far and deep. 
From a fissure in a rocky steep 

He withdrew a stone, o'er which there ran 
Fairy pencillings, a quaint design, 
Veining and leafage, fibres clear and fine, 
And the fern's life lay traced in every line ! 
Just so, I think, God hides some souls away, 
Sweetly to surprise us at the last day. 



THE BLACKSMITH'S STORY. 

WELL, no ! My wife ain't dead, sir ; but I've lost her 
all the same ; 
She left me voluntarily, and neither was to blame. 
It's rather a queer story, and I think you will agree — 
When you hear the circumstances — 'twas rather rough 
on me. 

She was a soldier's widow. He was killed at Malvern 

Hill ; 
And when I married her she seemed to sorrow for him 

still. 
But I brought her here to Kansas, and I never want to 

see 
A better wife than Mary was, for five bright years, to me ! 
15 



226 YOUNG folks' readings. 

The change of scene brought cheerfulness, and soon a 

rosy glow 
Of happiness warmed Mary's cheeks, and melted all their 

snow. 
I think she loved me some, — I'm bound to think that of 

her, sir, — 
And as for me, — I can't begin to tell how I loved her ! 

Three years ago the baby came, our humble home to 

bless ; 
And then I reckon I was nigh to perfect happiness. 
'Twas hers — 'twas mine — but I've no language to 

explain to you 
How that little girl's weak fingers our hearts together 

drew ! 

Once we watched, it through a fever, and, with each gasp- 
ing breath, 

Dumb with an awful, wordless woe, we waited for its 
death ; 

And though I'm not a pious man, our souls together 
there, 

For Heaven to spare our darling, went up in voiceless 
prayer. 

And when the doctor said 'twould live, our joy what 

words could tell ! 
Clasped in each other's arms our grateful tears together 

fell. 
Sometimes, you see, the shadow fell across our little nest, 
But it only made the sunshine seem a doubly welcome 

guest. 

Work came to me a plenty, and I kept the anvil ringing. 
Early and late you'd find me there, a-hammering and 

singing. 
Love nerved my arm to labor, and moved my tongue to 

song ; 
And though my singing wasn't sweet, it was almighty 

strong. 



227 

One day a one-armed stranger stopped to have me nail a 

shoe ; 
And while I was at work, we passed a compliment or 

two. 
I asked him how he lost his arm. He said 'twas shot 

away 
At Malvern Hill. "At Malvern Hill ! Did you know 

Robert May ? " 

" That's me ! " said he. " You ! you ! " I gasped, chok- 
ing with horrid doubt ; 

" If you're a man, just follow me ; we'll try this mystery 
out." 

With dizzy steps I led him to Mary. God! 'Twastrue! 

Then the bitterest pangs of misery unspeakable I knew. 

Frozen with deadly horror, she stared with eyes of stone, 

And from her quivering lips there broke one wild, despair- 
ing moan. 

'Twas he ! the husband of her youth, new risen from the 
dead ; 

But all too late ! And with that bitter cry her senses 
fled. 

What could be done ? He was reported dead. On his 

return 
He strove in vain some tidings of his absent wife to 

learn. 
'Twas well that he was innocent, else I'd have killed 

him too, 
vSo dead he never would have rose till Gabriel's trumpet 
c blew ! 

It was agreed that Mary between us should decide, 
And each by her decision would sacredly abide. 
No sinner at the Judgment-Seat, waiting eternal doom, 
Could suffer what I did while waiting sentence in that 
room. 



228 YOUNG folks' readings. 

Eigid and breathless there we stood, with nerves as tense 

as steel, 
While Mary's eyes sought each white face in piteous 

appeal. 
God ! Could not woman's duty be less hardly reconciled 
Between her lawful husband and the father of her child ? 

Ah, how my heart was chilled to ice when she knelt 

down and said, 
" Forgive me, John ! He is my husband ! Here ! Alive ! 

not dead ! " 
I raised her tenderly, and tried to tell her she was right ; 
But somehow in my aching breast the prisoned words 

stuck tight ! 

" But, John, I can't leave baby — " " What ! Wife and 

child ! " cried I ; 
" Must I yield all ? Ah, cruel ! Better that I should 

die! 
Think of the long, sad, lonely hours waiting in gloom 

for me — 
No wife to cheer me with her love — no babe to climb 

my knee ! 

"And yet — you are her mother; and the sacred mother- 
love 

Is still the purest, tenderest tie that Heaven ever wove. 

Take her ; but promise, Mary, — for that will be no 
shame, — 

My little girl shall bear, and learn to lisp, her father's 



It may be in the life to come I'll meet my child and wife ; 
But yonder, by my cottage gate, we parted for this life. 
One long hand-clasp from Mary, and my dream of love 

was done ! 
One long embrace from baby, and my happiness was 

gone ! 

Frank CIivb. 



NAMING THE CHICKENS. 229 



NAMING THE CHICKENS. 

THERE were two little chickens hatched out by one hen, 
And the owner of both was our little boy Ben ; 
So he set him to work, as soon as they came, 
To make them a house and find them a name. 

As for building a house, Benny knew very well 
That he couldn't do that ; but his big brother Phil 
Must be handy at tools, for he'd been to college, 
Where boys are supposed to learn all sorts of knowledge. 

Phil was very good-natured, and soon his small brother 
Had a nice cosy home for his chicks and their mother ; 
And a happier boy in the country just then 
Could not have been found than our dear little Ben. 

But a name for his pets it was harder to find, 
At least such as suited exactly his mind ; 
No mother of twins was ever more haunted 
With trouble to find just the ones that she wanted. 

There were plenty of names, no doubt about that, 
But a name that would do for a dog or a cat 
Would not answer for chickens so pretty as these ; 
Or else our dear boy was not easy to please. 

These two tiny chickens looked just like each other : 
To name them so young would be only a bother. 
But with one in each hand, said queer little Ben, 
" I want this one a rooster and that one a hen. 77 

Benny knew them apart by a little brown spot 
On the head of the one that the other had not ; 
They grew up like magic, each fat feathered chick ; 
One at length was named Peggy, and the other named 
Dick. 



230 YOUNG folks' readings. 

Benny watched them so closely, not a feather could grow 
In the dress of those chickens that he did not know ; 
And he taught them so well, they would march at com- 
mand, 
Fly up on his shoulder, or eat from his hand. 

But a funny thing happened concerning their names. 
Rushing into the house one day, Benny exclaims, 
" mother! Phil ! such a blunder there's been, 
For Peggy 1 s the rooster, and Dick is the hen! " 

Mrs. L. B. Bacon. 



THE ADVERTISEMENT ANSWERED. 

GOOD mornin' til yez, yer honor ! And are yez the 
gintlemon 
As advertised, in the paper, fur an active, intilligint 
b'y? 
Y' are ? Thin I've brought him along wid me, — a raal, 
fine sprig iv a wan : — 
As likely a b'y iv his age, sur, as iver ye'd wish ti em- 

pi'y- 

That's him. Av coorse I'm his mother ! Yez can see 
his resimblance til me, 
Fur ivery wan iv his faytures, and mine, are alike as 
two paze, — 
Barrin' wan iv his hivenly eyes, which he lost in a bit iv 
a spree 
Wid Hooligan's b'y, which intinded to larrup me 
Teddy with aize ; 

And his taythe, which hung out on his lip, like a pair iv 
big, shinin', twin pearls, 
Till wan iv thim taythe was removed by the fut iv a 
cow he was tazin' ; 



'THE ADVERTISEMENT ANSWERED. 231 

And his hair, that we niver cu'd comb, along iv bewil- 
derin' curls, 
So we kape it cropped short to save-combin', and that 
makes our intercoorse plazin\ 



And is it rid-headed ye call him ? Belike he is foxy, 
is Ted, 
And goold-colored hair is becomin' til thim that's com- 
plicted wid blonde ! 
But who cares fur color ? Sure contints out-vally the 
rest iv the head ! 
And Ted has a head full iv contints, as lively as t'hrout 
in a pond ! 

Good-timpered ? Sure niver a bett'her. — The peace- 
ablest, quietest lamb 
As lives the whole lin'th iv our st'hrate, where the b'ys 
is that kane fur a row 
That Ted has to fight iv'ry day, though he'd quarrel no 
more than a clam — 
Faith, thim b'ys 'ud provoke the swate angels in hiven 
to fight onyhow ! 

Thim Hooligan b'ys is that d'hirty, they have to be 
washed wanst a wake : — 
Faith, Hooligan finds it convanient to live down fer- 
ninst the canall 
Where the wat'her fur scrubbin' the mud off his chil- 
d'hers is not far til sake, — 
But. Teddy is always that nate that he niver nades 
washin' at all ! 



Can he rade ? Sure, me Ted has the makin' iv a beautiful 
rader, indade, 
And lairn't all the lett'hers, but twinty, in three 
months' attindance at school : 



232 YOUNG folks' readings. 

But the mast'her got mad at me Teddy, becase iv a joke 
that was played 
Wid a pin, that persuaded the mast'her quite suddint 
to rise from his stool. 



Teddy niver cu'd plaze that schoolmast'her wid ony iv 
thim playful t'hricks ; 
So, wid his edication unfinished, Ted found it convan- 
ient to lave. 
But, barrin' the larnin', I'll match him, fur kaneness, 
ferninst ony six, 
In butt'herin' paple wid blarney, and playin' nate 
t'hricks to desave. 



Thim Hooligan b'ys is all raders, but Teddy jist skins 'em 
alive : 
Wid their marbles, and paynuts, and pennies, iv'ry 
wan iv his pockets he'll fill 
By the turn iv his wrist, ur such tactics as Teddy knows 
how til contrive : — 
They'd gladly t'hrade off their book-larnin' for Ted- 
dy's suparior skill ! 

Politeness comes aisy til Ted, fur he's had me to tache 
him the t'hrick 
Iv bowin' and spakin' and scrapin' to show paple 
proper respict. 
Spake up til the gintlemon, Teddy ! Whist ! Aff wid 
your cap first, ye stick ! 
He's shapish a t'hrifle, yer honor; he's alius been 
brought up that strict. 

Come ! Spake up and show yer foine bradin' ! Och ! 
Hear that ! " How are yez, Owld Moke? " 
Arrah, millia murther ! Did ever yez hear jist the 
aqual iv that ? 



THE ADVERTISEMENT ANSWERED. 233 

How are yez, Owld Moke ? " says he. Ha ! ha ! 

Sure, yer honor, he manes it in joke ! 
He's the play fullest b'y ! Faith it's laughin' at Teddy 

that makes me so fat. 



Honest ? Troth, he is that ! He's that honest, he was 
niver tuk by the perlace, 
Barrin' wanst that Owld Hooligan swore that Teddy 
had stole his b'y's knife 
Wid divil a blade. And the jidge he remarked wid 
contimpt, 'twas the t'hriflinest case 
To bod'her a dignified Coort wid, he iver had known 
in his life ! 



Yez can t'hrust him wid onything. Honest ! Does he 
luk like a b'y that 'ud stale ? 
Jist luk in the swate, open face iv him, barrin' the eye 
wid the wink : — 
Och I Teddy ! ! Phat ugly black st'hrame is it runnin' 
down there by yer hale ! . . . 
Murtheration ! Yer honor, me Teddy has spilt yer 
fine bottle iv ink ! ! 



Phat ? How kem the ink in his pocket ? I'm thinkm' 
he borry'd it, sur : — 
And yez saw him pick up yer pen-howlder and stick 
it inside iv his slave ! 
And yez think that Teddy mint til purline 'em ! ! Ah ! 
wirra ! the likes iv that slur 
Will ; d'hrive me — poor, tinder, lone widdy — wid 
sorrow down until me grave ! 

Bad 'cess til yez, Teddy, ye spalpeen ! Why c'udn't yez 
howld on, the day — 
Ye thafe iv the world ! — widout breakin' the heart iv 
me? No. Yez must stale ! 



234 YOUNG folks' readings. 

I'll tache ye a t'hrick, ye rid-headed, pilferin', gimlet- 
eyed flay ! — 
Ye freckle-faced, impident bla'guard ! — Och ! whin 
we get home, yez'll squale ! 

Frank M. Thorn, in Scribner's Magazine. 



LOYE IN A BALLOON. 

COME time ago I was staying with Sir George 
^ Flasher, with a great number of people there — 
all kinds of amusements going on. Driving, riding, 
fishing, shooting, everything, in fact. Sir George's 
daughter, Fanny, was often my companion in these 
expeditions, and I was considerably struck with her, 
for she was a girl to whom the epithet " stunning " 
applies better than any other that I am acquainted 
with. She could ride like Nimrod, she could drive 
like Jehu, she could row like Charon, she could dance 
like Terpsichore, she could run like Diana, she walked 
like Juno, and she looked like Yenus. I've even 
seen her smoke. 

0, she was a stunner ! You should have heard that 
girl whistle, and laugh — you should have heard her 
laugh. She was truly a delightful companion. We 
rode together, drove together, fished together, walked 
together, danced together, sang together ; I called her 
Fanny, and she called me Tom. All this could have 
but one termination, you know. I fell in love with 
her, and determined to take the first opportunity of 
proposing. So, one day, when we were out together, 
fishing on the lake, I went down on my knees amongst 



LOVE IN A BALLOON. 235 

the gudgeons, seized her hand, pressed it to my waist- 
coat, and in burning accents entreated her to become 
my wife. 

" Don't be a fool," she said. " Now drop it, do, and 
put me a fresh worm on." 

" 0, Fanny ! " I exclaimed ; " don't talk about worms 
when marriage is in question. Only say — " 

" I tell you what it is, now," she replied, angrily : 
"if you don't drop it, I'll pitch you out of the boat." 

Gentlemen, I did not drop it, and I give you my 
word of honor, with a sudden shove she sent me fly- 
ing into the water; then, seizing the sculls, with a 
stroke or two she put several yards between us, and 
burst into a fit of laughter that fortunately prevented 
her from going further. I swam up, and climbed into 
the boat. " Jenkins," said I to myself, " revenge ! 
revenge ! " I disguised my feelings. I laughed — 
hideous mockery of mirth — I laughed, pulled to the 
bank, went to the house, and changed my clothes. 
When I appeared at the dinner-table, I perceived that 
every one had been informed of my ducking. Uni- 
versal laughter greeted me. During dinner, Fanny 
repeatedly whispered to her neighbor, and glanced 
at me. Smothered laughter invariably followed. 
" Jenkins," said I, " revenge ! " The opportunity 
soon offered. There was to be a balloon ascent from 
the lawn, and Fanny had tormented her father into 
letting her ascend with the aeronaut. I instantly took 
my plans ; bribed the aeronaut to plead illness at the 
moment when the machine should have risen ; learned 
from him the management of the balloon, though I 
understood that pretty well before, and calmly awaited 
the result. The day came. The weather was fine. 



236 YOUNG folks' headings. 

The balloon was inflated. Fanny was in the car. 
Everything was ready, when the aeronaut suddenly 
fainted. He was carried into the house, and Sir 
George accompanied him. Fanny was in despair. 

" Am I to lose my air expedition ? " she exclaimed, 
looking over the side of the car ; " some one under- 
stands the management of this thing, surely? No- 
body ! Tom ! " she called out to me, " you understand 
it — don't you?" 

" Perfectly," I answered. 

" Come along, then," she cried ; " be quick, before 
papa comes back." 

The company in general endeavored to dissuade her 
from her project, but of course in vain. After a de- 
cent show of hesitation, I climbed into the car. The 
balloon was cast off, and rapidly sailed heavenward. 
There was scarcely a breath of wind, and we rose 
almost straight up. We rose above the house, and 
she laughed and said, " How jolly ! " 

We were higher than the highest trees, and she 
smiled, and said it was very kind of me to come with 
Her. We were so high that the people below looked 
mere specks, and she hoped that I thoroughly under- 
stood the management of the balloon. Now was my 
time. 

" I understand the going up part," I answered ; " to 
come down is not so easy ; " and I whistled. 

" What do you mean ? " she cried. 

'* Why, when you want to go up faster, you throw 
some sand overboard," I replied, suiting the action to 
the word. 

11 Don't be foolish, Tom," she said, trying to appear 
quite calm and indifferent, but trembling uncommonly. 



LOVE IN A BALLOON. 237 

" Foolish ! " I said. " dear, no ; but whether I go 
along the ground or up in the air, I like to go the pace, 
and so do you, Fanny, I know. Go it, you cripples ! " 
and over went another sand-bag. 

" Why, you're mad, surely," she whispered, in utter 
terror, and tried to reach the bags, but I kept her 
back. 

" Only with love, my dear," I answered, smiling 
pleasantly ; " only with love for you. 0, Fanny, I 
adore you 1 Say you will be my wife." 

" I gave you an answer the other day," she replied ; 
" one which I should have thought you would have 
remembered," she added, laughing a little, notwith- 
standing her terror. 

" I remember it perfectly," I answered j " but I in- 
tend to have a different reply from that. You see those 
five sand-bags. I shall ask you ^ve times to become 
my wife. Every time you refuse I shall throw over 
a sand-bag; so, lady fair, as the cabmen would say, 
reconsider your decision, and consent to become Mrs. 
Jenkins." 

" I won't," she said ; " I never will ; and let me tell, 
you that you are acting in a very ungentlemanly way 
to press me thus." 

" You acted in a very ladylike way the other day, 
did you not," I rejoined, " when you knocked me out 
of the boat ? " She laughed again, for she was a 
plucky girl, and no mistake — a very plucky girl. 
" However," I went on, " it's no good arguing about 
it : will you promise to give me your hand ? " 

" Never ! " she answered ; " I'll go to Ursa Major 
first, though I've got a big enough bear here, in all 
conscience. Stay 1 you'd prefer Aquarius, wouldn't 
you ? " 



238 YOUNG folks' readings. 

She looked so pretty that I was almost inclined to 
let her off. (I was only trying to frighten her, of 
course : I knew how high we could go safely, well 
enough, and how valuable the life of Jenkins was to 
his country); but resolution is one of the strong points 
of my character, and when I've begun a thing, I like 
to carry it through ; so I threw over another sand-bag, 
and whistled the Dead March in Saul. 

" Come, Mr. Jenkins," she said, suddenly, — u come, 
Tom, let us descend now, and I'll promise to say 
nothing whatever about all this." 

I continued the execution of the Dead March. 

" But if you do not begin the descent at once, I'll 
tell papa the moment I set foot on the ground." 

I laughed, seized another bag, and, looking steadily 
at her, said, " Will you promise to give me your 
hand?" 

"I've answered you already," was the reply. 

Over went the sand, and the solemn notes of the 
Dead March resounded through the car. 

" I thought you were a gentleman," said Fanny, 
rising up in a terrible rage from the bottom of the 
car, where she had been sitting, and looking perfectly 
beautiful in her wrath. " I thought you were a gen- 
tleman, but I find I was mistaken. Why, a chimney- 
sweeper would not treat a lady in such a way. Do 
you know that you are risking your own life as well as 
mine by your madness ? " 

I explained that I adored her so much that to die in 
her company would be perfect bliss, so that I begged 
she would not consider my feelings at all. She dashed 
her beautiful hair from her face, and standing per- 
fectly erect, looking like the Goddess of Anger or 



LOVE IN A BALLOON. 239 

Boadicea, — if you can imagine that personage in a 
balloon, — she said, "I command you to begin the de- 
scent this instant ! " 

The Dead March, whistled in a manner essentially 
gay and lively, was the only response. After a few 
minutes' silence I took up another bag, and said, — 

" We are getting rather high. If you do not decide 
soon, we shall have Mercury coming to tell us that we 
are trespassing. Will you promise me your hand ? " 

She sat in sulky silence in the bottom of the car. 
I threw over the sand. Then she tried another plan. 
Throwing herself upon her knees, and bursting into 
tears, she said, — 

" 0, forgive me for what I did the other day. It 
was very wrong, and I am very sorry. Take me 
home, and I will be a sister to you." 

" Not a wife ? " said I. 

" I can't ! I can't ! " she answered. 

Over went the fourth bag, and I began to think she 
would beat me after all, for I did not like the idea of 
going much higher. I would not give in just yet, 
however. I whistled for a few moments, to give her 
time for reflection, and then said, " Fanny, they say 
that marriages are made in heaven ; if you do not take 
care, ours will be solemnized there." 

I took up the fifth bag. " Come," I said, " my wife 
in life, or my companion in death. Which is it to be ?" 
and I petted the sand-bag in a cheerful manner. She 
held her face in her hands, but did not answer. I 
nursed the bag in my arms as if it had been a baby. 

" Come, Fanny, give me your promise." I could 
hear her sobs. I'm the softest-hearted creature 
breathing, and would not pain any living thing, and 



240 YOUNG FOLKS' readings. 

I confess she had beaten me. I forgave her the duck- 
ing ; I forgave her for rejecting me. I was on the 
point of flinging the bag back into the car, and say- 
ing, " Dearest Fanny, forgive me for frightening you. 
Marry whomsoever you wish. Give your lovely hand 
to the lowest groom in your stables ; endow with 
your priceless beauty the chief of the Panki-wanki 
Indians. Whatever happens, Jenkins is your slave — 
your dog — your footstool. His duty, henceforth, is 
to go whithersoever you shall order, to do whatever 
you shall command." I was just on the point of say- 
ing this, I repeat, when Fanny suddenly looked up, and 
said, with a queerish expression upon her face, — 

" You need not throw that last bag over. I promise 
to give you my hand." 

" With all your heart ? " I asked, quickly. 

" With all my heart," she answered, with the same 
strange look. 

I tossed the bag into the bottom of the car, and 
opened the valve. The balloon descended. Gentle- 
men, will you believe it ? — when we had reached the 
ground, and the balloon had been given over to its re- 
covered master — when I had helped Fanny tenderly 
to the earth, and turned towards her to receive anew 
the promise of her affection and her hand, — will you 
believe it? — she gave me a box on the ear that upset 
me against the car, and, running to her father, who 
at that moment came up, she related to him and the 
assembled company what she called my disgraceful 
conduct in the balloon, and ended by informing me 
that all of her hand that I was likely to get had been 
already bestowed upon my ear, which she assured me 
had been given with all her heart. 



tom's come home. 241 

" You villain ! w said Sir George, advancing towards 
me with a horsewhip in his hand. " You villain ! 
I've a good mind to break this over your back." 

" Sir George," said I, " villain and Jenkins must 
never be coupled in the same sentence ; and as for the 
breaking of this whip, I'll relieve you of the trouble ; '' 
and snatching it from his hand, I broke it in two, and 
threw the pieces on the ground. " And now I shall 
have the honor of wishing you a good morning. Miss 
Flasher, I forgive you ; " and I retired. Now, I ask 
you whether any specimen of female treachery equal 
to that has ever come within your experience, and 
whether any excuse can be made for such conduct ? 

Litchfield Moselet. 



TOM'S COME HOME. 

WITH its heavily rocking and swinging load, 
The stage-coach rolls up the mountain road. 
The mowers lean on their scythes and say, 
" Hallo ! what brings Big George this way ? " 
The children climb the slats, and wait 
To see him drive past the door-yard gate ; 
When, four in hand, sedate and grand, 
He brings the old craft like a ship to land. 
At the window, mild grandmotherly eyes 
Beam from their glasses with quaint surprise, 
Grow wide with wonder, and guess, and doubt ; 
Then a quick, half-stifled voice shrieks out, 
" Tom ! Tom's come home ! " 

The face at the casement disappears, 
To shine at the door, all joy and tears, 
As a traveller, dusty and bearded and brown. 
Over the wheel steps lightly down. 
10 



242 YOUNG folks' headings. 

" Well, mother ! " " My son ! " And to his breast 
A forward-tottering form is pressed. 
She lies there, and cries there ; now at arm's-length 
Admires his manly size and strength 
(While he winks hard one misty eye) ; 
Then calls to the youngsters staring nigh — 
" Quick ! go for your gran'ther ! run, boys, run! 
Tell him your uncle — tell him his son — 
Our Tom's come home ! " 

The stage-coach waits ; but little cares she 
What faces pleasantly smile to see 
Her jostled glasses and tumbled cap. 
Big George's hands the trunk unstrap 
And bear it in ; while two light-heeled 
Young Mercuries fly to the mowing field, 
And shriek and beckon, and meet half-way 
The old gran'ther, lame and gaunt and gray, 
Coat on arm, half in alarm, 
Striding over the stony farm. 
The good news clears his cloudy face, 
And he cries, as he quickens his anxious pace, 
" Tom ? Tom come home ? " 

With twitching cheek and quivering lid 
(A soft heart under the hard lines hid), 
And " Tom, how d'e do ? " in a husky voice, 
He grasps with rough, strong hand the boy's — 
A boy's no more. " I shouldn't have known 
That beard." While Tom's fine barytone 
Eolls out from his deep chest cheerily, 
" You're hale as ever, I'm glad to see." 
In the low back porch the mother stands, 
And rubs her glasses with trembling hands, 
And, smiling with eyes that blear and blink, 
Chimes in, "I never ! " and " Only think ! 
Our Tom's come home I " 



TOM'S COME HOME. 243 

"With question and joke and anecdote, 
He brushes his hat, they dust his coat, 
While all the household gathers near : 
Tanned urchins eager to see and hear, 
And large-eyed, dark-eyed, shy young mother, 
Widow of Tom's unlucky brother, 
Who turned out ill, and was drowned at the mill : 
The stricken old people mourn him still, 
And the hope of their lives in him undone ; 
But grief for the dissolute ruined son — 
Their best-beloved and oldest boy — 
Is all forgotten, or turned to joy, 
Now Tom 's come home. 

Yet Tom was never the favored child, 
Though Tom was steady, and Will was wild ; 
But often his own and his brother's share 
Of blows and blame he was forced to bear ; 
Till at last he said, •' Here is no room 
For both — I go I" Now he to whom 
Scant grace was shown has proved the one 
Large-hearted, upright, trusty son ; 
And well may the old folks joy to find 
His brow so frank and his eye so kind, 
No shadow of all the past allowed 
To trouble the present hour, or cloud 
His welcome home. 

His trunk unlocked, the lid he lifts, 

And lays out curious, costly gifts ; 

For Tom has prospered since he went 

Into his long self-banishment. 

Each youngster's glee, as he hugs his share, 

The widow's surprise, and the old folks' air 

Of affectionate pride in a son so good, 

Thrill him with generous gratitude. 

And he thinks, " Am I that lonely lad 

Who went off friendless, poor, and sad, 



244 YOUNG folks' readings. 

That dismal day, from my father's door ? " 
And can it be true he is here once more 
In his childhood's home ? 

'Tis hard to think of his brother dead, 
And a widow and orphans here in his stead — 
So little seems changed since they were young ! 
The row of pegs where the hats were hung ; 
The checkered chimney and hearth of bricks ; 
The sober old clock with its lonesome ticks, 
And shrill, loud chime for the flying time ; 
The stairs the bare feet used to climb, 
Tom chasing his wild bedfellow Will ; 
And there is the small low bedroom still, 
And the table he had when a little lad : 
Ah, Tom, does it make you sad or glad, 
This coming home ? 

Tom's heart is moved. " Now don't mind me ! 
I am no stranger guest," cries he. 
" And, father, I say ! " — with the old-time laugh 
" Don't kill for me any fatted calf! 
But go now and show me the sheep and swine, 
And the cattle — where is that colt of mine ? — 
And the farm and crops — is harvest over ? 
I'd like a chance at the oats and clover ! 
I can mow, you'll find, and cradle and bind, 
Load hay, stow away, pitch, rake behind ; 
For I know a scythe from a well-sweep yet. 
In an hour I'll make you quite forget 
That I've been from home." 

He plucks from its peg an old farm hat, 
And with cordial chat upon this and that, 
Tom walks with his father about the place. 
There's a pensive grace in his fine young face 
As they loiter under the orchard trees, 
As he breathes once more the mountain breeze, 



245 



And looks from the hill-side far away, 
Over pasture and fallow, and field of hay, 
To the hazy peaks of the azure range, 
Which change forever, yet never change ; 
The wild sweet winds his welcome blow : 
Even old Monadnock seems to know 
That Tom 's come home. 

The old man stammers and speaks at last : 
" You notice your mother is failing fast, 
Though she can't see it. Poor Will's disgrace 
And debts, and the mortgage on the place ; 
His sudden death — 'Twas a dreadful blow ; 
She couldn't bear up like a man, you know. 
She's talked of you since the trouble came : 
Some things in the past she seems to blame 
Herself for ; what, it is hard to tell. 
I marvel how she keeps round so well, 
For often all night she lies awake. 
I'm thankful, if only for her sake, 
That you've come home." 

They visit the field : Tom mows with the men ; 
And now they come round to the porch again. 
The mother draws Torn aside ; lets sink 
Her voice to a whisper, and — " What do you think 
You see," she says, " he is broken quite. 
Sometimes he tosses and groans all night, 
And — Tom, it is hard, it is hard indeed ! 
The mortgage, and so many mouths to feed 1 
But tell him he must not worry so, 
And work so hard, for he don't know 
That he hasn't the strength of a younger man. 
Counsel hirn, comfort him, all you can, 
While you're at home." 

Tom's heart is full ; he moves away, 
And ponders what he will do or say. 



246 YOUNG folks' keadings. 

And now at evening all are met, 
The tea is drawn, the table set ; 
But when the old man with bended head, 
In reverent, fervent tones has said 
The opening phrase of his simple grace, 
He falters, the tears course down his face ; 
For the words seem cold, and the sense of the old 
Set form is too weak his joy to hold j 
And broken accents best express 
The upheaved heart's deep thankfulness, 
Now Tom's come home. 

The supper done, Tom has his say: 
"I heard of some matters first to-day; 
And I call it a shame — you're both to blame — 
That a son, who has only to sign his name, 
To lift the mortgage and clear the score, 
Should never have had that chance before. 
From this time forth you are free from care ; 
Your troubles I share ; your burdens I bear. 
So promise to quit hard work, and say 
That you'll give yourselves a holiday. 
Now, father ! now, mother ! you can't refuse ; 
For what's a son for, and what's the use 
Of his coming home ? " 

And so there is cheer in the house to-night. 
It hardly can hold so much delight. 
Tom wanders forth across the lot, 
And, under the stars — though Tom is not 
So pious as some boys have been — 
Thanks Heaven, that turned his thoughts from sin, 
And blessed him, and brought him home once more. 
And now he knocks at a cottage-door, 
For one who has waited many a year 
In hope that thrilling sound to hear ; 
Who, happy as other hearts may be, 
Knows well there is none so glad as she 
That Tom 's come home. 

J. T. Tbowbbidge. 



wyatt's hakangue. 247 



WYATT'S HARANGUE TO THE LONDON 
CROWD. 

MEN of Kent ; England of England ; you that have 
kept your old customs upright, while all the rest 
of England bowed theirs to the Norman: the cause that 
hath brought us together is not the cause of a county 
or a shire, but of this England, in whose crown our 
Kent is the fairest jewel. Philip shall not wed Mary; 
and ye have called me to be your leader. I know 
Spain. I have been there with my father; I have 
seen them in their own land ; have marked the haugh- 
tiness of their nobles, the cruelty of their priests. If 
this man many our Queen, however the Council and 
the Commons may fence round his power with restric- 
tion, he will be King, King of England, my masters ; 
and the Queen, and the laws, and the people, his slaves. 
What ? shall we have Spain on the throne and in the 
parliament ; Spain in the pulpit and on the law-bench ; 
Spain in all the great offices of state ; Spain in our 
ships, in our forts, in our houses, in our beds ? 

But, say you, must we levy war against the Queen's 
Grace ? 

No, my friends ; war for the Queen's Grace — to 
save her from herself and Philip — war against Spain. 
And think not we shall be alone — thousands will flock 
to us. The Council, the Court itself, is on our side. 
The Lord Chancellor himself is on our side. The King 
of France is with us ; the King of Denmark is with 
us; the world is with us — war against Spain ! And 
if we move not now, yet it will be known that we 



248 _ YOUNG folks' readings. 

have moved ; and if Philip come to be King, 0, my 
God ! the rope, the rack, the thumb-screw, the stake, 
the fire. If we move not now, Spain moves, bribes 
our nobles with her gold, and creeps, creeps, snake- 
like, about our legs till we cannot move at all ; and ye 
know, my masters, that wherever Spain hath ruled she 
hath withered all beneath her. Look at the New 
World — a paradise made hell ; the red man, that good 
helpless creature, starved, maimed, flogged, flayed, 
burned, boiled, buried alive, worried by dogs ; and 
here, nearer home, the Netherlands, Sicily, Naples, 
Lombardy. I say no more — only this, their lot is 
yours. Forward to London with me ! forward to Lon- 
don ! If ye love your liberties or your skins, forward 
to London ! 

Tennyson. 



WAKING. 

1HA YE done at length with dreaming ; 
Henceforth, thou soul of mine, 
Thou must take up sword and gauntlet, 

Waging warfare most divine I 
Life is struggle, combat, victory ; 

Wherefore have 1 slumbered on, 
With my forces all unmarshalled, 
With my weapons all undrawn ! 

how many a glorious record 
Had the angels of me kept, 

Had I done instead of doubted, 
Had I warred instead of wept ! 

But begone regret bewailing ; 
Ye but weaken at the best ; 

1 have tried the trusty weapons 

Rusting erst within my breast ; 



WAKING. 249 

I have wakened to my duty, 

To a knowledge, strong and deep, 
That I dreamed not of aforetime, 

In my long, inglorious sleep ; 
For to live is something awful, 

And I knew it not before ; 
And I dreamed not how stupendous 

Was the secret that I bore, — 
The great, deep, mysterious secret 

Of a life to be wrought out 
Into warm, heroic action, 

Weakened not by fear or doubt. 
In this subtle sense of being, 

Newly-stirred within my vein, 
I can feel a throb electric, 

Pleasure half allied to pain. 
'Tis so great, and yet so awful, 

So bewildering, yet brave, 
To be king in every conflict 

When before I crouched a slave. 
'Tis so glorious to be conscious 

Of a glowing power within 
Stronger than the rallying forces 

Of a charged and marshalled sin. 
those olden days of dalliance, 

When I wantoned with my fate, 
When I trifled with a knowledge 

That had well-nigh come too late I 
But, my soul, look not behind thee, 

Thou hast work to do at last ; 
Let the brave toil of the Present 
, Overarch the crumbled Past. 
Build thy great acts high and higher, 

Build them on the conquered sod 
Where thy weakness first fell, bleeding, 

And thy prayers arose to God. 

Mbs. Caholine Mason. 



250 



THE ANGEL'S STORY. 

THROUGH the blue and frosty heavens 
Christmas stars were shining bright ; 
Glistening lamps through the great city 
Almost matched their gleaming light ; 
While the winter snow was lying, 
And the winter winds were sighing, 
Long ago one Christmas night. 

While from every tower and steeple 
Pealing bells were sounding clear, 

Never with such tones of gladness, 

Save when Christmas time draws near. 

Many a one that night was merry, 
Who had toiled through all the year. 

Yet one house was dim and darkened ; 

Gloom, and sickness, and despair 
Were dwelling in the gilded chamber, 

Creeping up the marble stair, 
Stilling even the voice of mourning : 

For a child lay dying there ! 

Silken curtains fell around him, 
Velvet carpets hushed the tread ; 

Many costly toys were lying 
All unheeded by his bed ; 

And his tangled golden ringlets 
Were on downy pillows spread. 

All the skill of the great city 

To save that little life was vain ; 
That little thread from being broken, 
That fatal word from being spoken ; 



251 



Nay, his very mother's pain, 
And the mighty love within her, 
Could not give him health again. 

Suddenly an unseen Presence 

Checked those constant moaning cries, 
Stilled the little heart's quick fluttering, 

Eaised those blue and wandering eyes, 
Fixed on some mysterious vision, 

With a startled, sweet surprise. 

For a radiant angel hovered 

Smiling o'er the little bed ; 
White his raiment, from his shoulders 

Snowy, dove-like pinions spread, 
And a star-like light was shining 

In a Glory round his head. 

While with tender love the angel, 

Leaning o'er the little nest, 
In his arms the sick child folding, 

Laid him gently on his breast, 
Sobs and wailings told the mother 

That her darling was at rest. 

So the angel, slowly rising, 

Spread his wings, and through the air 
Bore the smiling child, and held him 

On his heart with loving care ; 
A red branch of blooming roses 

Placing softly by him there. 

While the child, thus clinging, floated 
Towards the mansions of the Blest, 

Gazing from his shining guardian 
To the flowers upon his breast, 

Thus the angel spake, still smiling 
On the little heavenly guest : 



252 YOUNG folks' 

" Once in that great town below us, 
In a poor and narrow street, 

Dwelt a little sickly orphan ; 
Gentle aid, or pity sweet, 

Never in life's rugged pathway 
Guided his poor tottering feet. 



" All too weak for childish pastimes, 

Drearily the hours sped ; 
On his hands, so small and trembling, 

Leaning his poor aching head, 
Or, through dark and painful hours, 

Lying sleepless on his bed. 



" One bright day, with feeble footsteps, 
Slowly forth he dared to crawl, 

Through the crowded city's pathways, 
Till he reached a garden wall, 

Where, 'mid princely halls and mansions, 
Stood the lordliest of all. 



He against the gate of iron 

Pressed his wan and wistful face, 

Gazing with an awe-struck pleasure 
At the glories of the place ; 

Never had his brightest day-dream 

Shone with half such wondrous grace. 

You were playing in that garden, 
Throwing blossoms in the air, 

And laughing when the petals floated 
Downwards on your golden hair ; 

And the fond eyes watching o'er you, 

And the splendor spread before you, 
Told a House's Hope was there. 



THE angel's story. 253 

When your servants, tired of seeing 

His pale face of want and woe, 
Turning to the ragged Orphan, 

Gave him coin, and bade him go, 
Down his cheek, so thin and wasted, 

Bitter tears began to flow. 



" But that look of childish sorrow 
On your tender child-heart fell, 

And you plucked the reddest roses 
From the tree you loved so well ; 

Passing them through the stern grating, 
With the gentle word, ' Farewell ! ' 



" Dazzled by the fragrant treasure, 
And the gentle voice he heard, 

In the poor, forlorn boy's spirit, 
Joy y the sleeping Seraph, stirred ; 

In his hand he took the flowers, 
In his heart the loving word. 



"So he crept to his poor garret, 

Poor no more, but rich and bright ; 

For the holy dreams of childhood — 
Love, and Eest, and Hope, and Light 

Floated round the Orphan's pillow 
Through the starry summer night. 



"Day dawned, yet the visions lasted ; 
All too weak to rise he lay ; 
Did he dream that none spake harshly — 

All were strangely kind that day ? 
And he thought his treasured roses 
Must have charmed all ills away. 



254 YOUNG folks' readings. 

" And he smiled, though they were fading ? 

One by one their leaves were shed ; 
' Such bright things could never perish ; 

They would bloom again/ he said. 
When the next day's sun had risen, 

Child and flowers both were dead ! 



Know, dear little one, our Father 
Does no little deed disdain ; 

And in hearts that beat in heaven, 
Still all tender thoughts remain. 

Love on the cold earth beginning, 
Lives divine and pure again ! " 



Thus the angel ceased, and gently 

O'er his little burden leant ; 
While the child gazed from the shining, 

Loving" eyes that o'er him bent, 
To the blooming roses by him, 

Wondering what that mystery meant. 



Then the radiant angel answered, 

And with tender meaning smiled, 
" Ere your child-like, loving spirit, 
Sin and the hard world defiled, 

God has given me leave to seek you : — 
I was once that little child ! " 

Adelaide Procter. 



HOW TOM GOT HIS FENCE WHITEWASHED. 255 



HOW TOM SAWYER GOT HIS FENCE 
WHITEWASHED. 

TOM SAWYER, having offended his sole guardian, 
Aunt Polly, is by that sternly affectionate dame 
punished by being set to whitewash the fence in front 
of the garden. The world seemed a hollow mockery 
to Tom, who had planned fun for that day, and he 
knew that he would be the laughing-stock of all the 
boys as they came past and saw him set to work like 
a " nigger.' 7 But a great inspiration burst upon him, 
and he went tranquilly to work. What that inspira- 
tion was will appear from what follows. 

One of the boys, Ben Rogers, comes by and pauses, 
eating a particularly fine apple. Tom does not see 
him. Ben stared a moment, and then said, — 

" Hi-yi ! you're a stump, ain't you ? " 

No answer. Tom surveyed his last touch with the 
eye of an artist, then he gave another gentle sweep, 
and surveyed the result as before. Ben ranged up 
alongside of him. Tom's mouth watered for the apple, 
but he stuck to his work. Ben said, — 

" Hello, old chap ; you got to work, hey ! " 

« Why, it's you, Ben ; I wasn't noticing." 

" Say, I'm going in a-swimming, I am. Don't you 
wish you could ? But, of course, you'd ruther work, 
wouldn't you ? Course you would ! " 

Tom contemplated the boy a bit, and said, — 

" What do you call work ? " 

" Why, ain't that work? " 

Tom resumed his whitewashing, and answered care- 
lessly, — 



256 YOUNG folks' headings. 

" Well, maybe it is, and maybe it ain't. All I know 
is, it suits Tom Sawyer." 

" 0, come now, you don't mean to let on that you 
like it?" 

The brush continued to move. 

" Like it ? Well, I don't see why I oughtn't to like 
it. Does a boy get a chance to whitewash a fence 
every day ? " 

That put the thing in a new light. Ben stopped 
nibbling his apple. Tom swept his brush daintily 
back and forth — stepped back to note the effect — 
added a touch here and there — criticised the effect 
again. Ben watching every move, and getting more 
and more interested, more and more absorbed. Pres- 
ently he said, — 

" Say, Tom, let me whitewash a little." 

Tom considered ; was about to consent, but he al- 
tered his mind. " No, no ; I reckon it wouldn't hardly 
do, Ben. You see, Aunt Polly's awful particular about 
this fence — right here on the street, you know — 
but if it was the back fence I wouldn't mind, and she 
wouldn't. Yes, she's awful particular about this fence ; 
it's got to be done very careful ; I reckon there ain't 
one boy in a thousand, maybe two thousand, that can 
do it in the way it's got to be done." 

" No — is that so? 0, come now; lemme just try, 
only just a little. I'd let you, if you was me, Tom." 

" Ben, I'd like to; honest Injun ; but Aunt Polly — 
well, Jim wanted to do it, but she wouldn't let him. 
Sid wanted to do it, but she wouldn't let Sid. Now, 
don't you see how I am fixed ? If you was to tackle 
this fence, and anything was to happen to it — " 

" 0, shucks ! I'll be just as careful. Now lemme 
try. Say — I'll give you the core of my apple." 



HOW TOM GOT HIS FENCE WHITEWASHED. 257 

u Well, here. No, Ben ; now don't; I'm afeard — " 

" I'll give you all of it ! " 

Tom gave up the brush with reluctance in his face, 
but alacrity in his heart. And while Ben worked and 
sweated in the sun, the retired artist sat on a barrel 
in the shade close by, dangling his legs, munched his 
apple, and planned the slaughter of more innocents. 
There was no lack of material ; boys happened along 
every little while ; tbey came to jeer, but remained to 
whitewash. By the time Ben was fagged out, Tom 
had traded the next chance to Billy Fisher for a kite 
in good repair ; and when he played out, Johnny Miller 
bought it for a dead rat and a string to swing it with ; 
and so on, and so on, hour after hour. And when the 
middle of the afternoon came, from being a poor pov- 
erty-stricken boy in the morning, Tom was literally 
rolling in wealth. He had, besides the things I have 
mentioned, twelve marbles, part of a jews-harp, a piece 
of blue bottle-glass to look through, a spool cannon, a 
key that wouldn't unlock anything, a fragment of 
chalk, a glass stopper of a decanter, a tin soldier, a 
couple of tadpoles, six fire-crackers, a kitten with only 
one eye, a brass door-knob, a dog collar — but no dog 

— the handle of a knife, four pieces of orange peel, 
and a dilapidated old window sash. He had had a 
nice, good, idle time all the while — plenty of company 

— and the fence had three coats of whitewash on it ! 
If he hadn't run out of whitewash, he would have 
bankrupted every boy in the village. 

Tom said to himself that it was not such a hollow 
world after all. He had discovered a great law of 
human action without knowing it, namely, that in 
order to make a man or a boy covet a thing, it is only 
necessary to make it difficult to attain. mark twain. 
17 



258 YOUNG folks' readings. 



OUR ORIOLE NEIGHBORS. 

SPHERE'S an oriole's nest in the elm-tree boughs ; 

X And the flurry and flutter are such that it seems 

As if the young husband were telling his spouse, 
In an air-castle way, of his householding schemes. 
Don't he talk like a tipsy one telling his dreams ? 

But what does he care for the lore of the schools 
While his thoughts are busy with family cares ? 

So, disregarding grammatical rules, 

(No Lord of the Birch has our hero to fear,) 
He winds up his story of household affairs 

With, " Here I be, here I be, — right up here 1 " 

Do matters go smoothly ? Well, once in a while 
Our neighbor is down with a touch of the blues ; 

Then he talks to himself in a very queer style, 
But is dumb when his lady solicits the news. 
He mopes, and he sulks, and he stares at his shoes, 

And he vows that this world is a very dull place. 
But 'tis easier by far for our friend to rejoice ; 

So, just as his goodwife, with sorrowful face, 
Is wondering whether her partner is near, 
He shouts from his perch, at the top of his voice, 

" Why, here I be, here I be, — right up here ! " 

u But never," he says, " in my love-making days, 
When I was a youngster, and Mrs. was Miss, 

And the bright world abounded in all its glad ways, 
With song and with sunshine, with beauty and bliss, — 
Never once did I think that it could come to this ! 

'Tis a serious question, this matter of bread ; 
And soon the demand will be, — [ rations for five ! ' 

Shall I give up the fight, and go down with the dead, 
And leave you a widow ? Say, Tooty, my dear ! 
No ; I am determined to strive and to thrive ; 
So, here I be, here I be, — right up here ! " 



DEFENCE OF HOFER. 259 

0, the wind blows east, and the wind blows west, 
And the days and the weeks and the months go by ; 

In the yellowing* elm there's a desolate nest, 
For its builders have flown to a pleasanter sky ; 
And I hardly know whether to smile or to sigh 

At the thought that when I shall have left this abode, 
And passed, like the birds, from the Old to the New, 

Some friend, losing sight of my face on the road, 
May puzzle his brain to determine my sphere, 
And get for all answer, (I hope 'twill be true !) 

" Why, here I be, here I be, — ; right up here ! " 

Beverly Moore. 



DEFENCE OF HOFER, THE TYROLESE 
PATRIOT. 

YOU ask what I have to say in my defence — you 
who glory in the name of France, who wander 
through the world to enrich and exalt the land of your 
birth, — you demand how I could dare to arm myself 
against the invaders of my native rocks? Do you 
confine the love of home to yourselves ? Do you 
punish in others the actions which you dignify and 
reward among yourselves? Those stars which glitter 
on your breasts, do they hang there as a recompense 
for patient servitude ? 

I see the smile of contempt which curls your lips. 
You say, " This brute, — he is a ruffian, a beggar ! 
That patched jacket, that ragged cap, that rusty belt : 
— shall barbarians such as he close the pass against us, 
shower rocks on our heads, and single out our leaders 
with unfailling aim, — these grovelling mountaineers, 
who know not the joys and brilliance of life, creeping 



260 YOUNG folks' readings. 

amid eternal snows, and snatching with greedy hand 
their stinted ear of corn ? " 

Yet, poor as we are, we never envied our neighbors 
their smiling sun, their gilded palaces ; we never 
strayed from our peaceful huts to blast the happiness 
of those who had not injured us. The traveller who 
visited our valleys, met every hand outstretched to 
welcome him ; for him every hearth blazed with de- 
light as we listened to his tale of distant lands. Too 
happy for ambition, we were not jealous of wealth ; we 
have even refused to partake of it. 

Frenchmen ! you have wives and children. When 
you return to your beautiful cities, amid the roar of 
trumpets, the smiles of the lovely, and the multitudes 
shouting their triumph, they will ask, " Where have 
you roamed? What have you achieved ? What have 
you brought back to us?' 7 Those laughing babes 
who climb upon your knees, will you have the heart 
to tell them, " We have pierced the barren crags ; we 
have entered the naked cottage to level it to the 
ground; we found no treasures but honest hearts, and 
those we have broken because they throbbed with 
love for the wilderness around them ? Clasp this old 
firelock in your little hands, it was snatched from a 
peasant of Tyrol, who died in the vain effort to stem 
the torrent ! " Seated by your fireside, will you boast 
to your generous and blooming wives, that you have 
extinguished the last ember which enlightened our 
gloom ? 

Happy s.cenes ! I shall never see you more ! In 
those cold and stern eyes I read my fate. Think not 
that your sentence can be terrible to me I But I have 
sons, daughters, and a wife who has shared all my 



DEFENCE OP HOFER. 261 

labors ; she has shared, too, my little pleasures, — such 
pleasures as that humble roof can yield, — pleasures 
that you cannot understand. 

My little ones ! should you live to bask in the sun- 
shine of manhood (you are sporting by the brook that 
washes our door), dream not of your father's doom ! 
Should you live to know it, know, too, that, the man 
who has served his God and country with all his heart, 
can smile at the musket levelled to pierce it. What is 
death to me ? I have not revelled in pleasures wrung 
from innocence or want ; rough and discolored as are 
these hands, they are pure. My death is nothing. 
that my country could live ! that ten thousand 
such deaths could make her immortal ! 

Do I despair, then ? No ; we have rushed to the 
sacrifice, and the offering has been vain for us ; but 
our children shall burst these fetters; the blood of 
virtue was never shed in vain. Freedom can never 
die ! I have heard that you killed your king once, 
because he enslaved you ; yet now, again, you crouch 
before a single man who bids you trample on all who 
abjure his yoke, and shoots you if you have courage 
to disobey. Do you think that, when I am buried, 
there shall breathe no other Hofers ? Dream you that, 
if to-day you prostrate Hofer in the dust, to-morrow 
Hofer is no more ? 

In the distance I see the liberty which I shall 
not taste ; behind, I look on my slaughtered country- 
men, on my orphans, on my desolate fields ; but a star 
rises before my aching sight, which points to justice, 
and it shall come. Before the sun has sunk below yon 
mountains, I shall awake in a paradise which you, per- 
haps, may never reach.... 



262 YOUNG folks' headings. 

THE LITTLE HERO. 

A TALE OF THE ATLANTIC, AS TOLD BY OLD BEN. 

NOW, lads, a short yarn I'll just spin you, 
As happened on our very last run, 
'Bout a boy as a man's soul had in him, 
Or else I'm a son of a gun ! 

From Liverpool port out three days, lads, 
The good ship floating over the deep, 

The skies blight with sunshine above us, 
The waters beneath us asleep ; 

Not a bad-tempered lubber among us, 

A jollier crew never sailed ; 
'Cept the first mate, a bit of a savage, 

But good seaman as ever was hailed. 

Regulation, good order, his motto, 
Strong as iron, and steady as quick, 

With a couple of bushy black eyebrows, 
And eyes fierce as those of Old Nick ! 

One day he comes up from below deck, 

A-graspin' a lad by the arm, 
A poor little ragged young urchin, 

As ought to be home with his marm ! 

An' the mate asks the boy pretty roughly, 
" How he dared for to be stowed away ? 

A-cheating the owners and captain, 
Sailin', eatin', and all without pay ! " 



THE LITTLE HERO. 263 

The lad had a face bright and sunny, 

An' a pair o' blue eyes like a girl's, 
An' looks up at the scowling first mate, boys, 

An' shakes back his long shining curls. 

An' says he, in a voice clear and pretty, 

" My stepfather brought me aboard, 
And hid me away down the stairs there, 

For to keep me he couldn't afford. 

" And he told me the big ship would take me 

To Halifax town, 0, so far ! 
And he said, ' Now the Lord is your Father, 

Who lives where the good angels are ! ' " 

" It's a lie ! " says the mate, — " not your father, 

But some o' the big skulkers here ; 
Some milk-hearted, soft-headed sailor ! 

Speak up ! tell the truth ! d'ye hear ! " 

" 'Twarn't us," growled the tars as stood round 
'em. 
" What's your age ? " says one son of the brine. 
" And your name ? " says another old saltfish. 
Says the small chap, "I'm Frank — just turned 
nine ! " 

" 0, my eyes ! " says another bronzed seaman 
To the mate, who seemed staggered hisself, 

" Let him go free to old Novy Scoshy, 
An' I'll work out his passage myself! " 

" Belay ! " says the mate ; " shut your mouth, man ; 

I'll sail this here craft, bet your life ! 
An' I'll fit the lie on to ye somehow, 

As square as a fork fits a knife ! " 



264 YOUNG folks' readings. 

Then a-knitting his black brows with auger, 

He tumbles the poor slip below, 
An' says he, " P'raps to-morrow '11 change you; 

If it don't, back to England you go ! " 

I took him some dinner, be sure, mates ; 

Just think — only nine years of age ! 
An' next day, just as soon as six bells toiled, 

The mate brings him out of his cage. 

An' he plants him afore us amidships, 

His eyes like two coals all alight, 
An' he says, through his teeth — mad with passion, 

An' his hand lifted rea$y to smite : 

" Tell the truth, lad, and then I'll forgive you ; 

But the truth I will have — speak it out ; 
It wasn't your father as brought you, 
But some of these men here about ? " 

Then that pair o' blue eyes bright and winning, 
Clear and shady with innocent youth, 

Looks up at the mate's bushy eyebrows, 

An' says he, " Sir, I've told you the truth I " 

'Twarn't no use — the mate didn't believe him, 
Though every man else did aboard ; 

With rough hand by the collar he seized him, 
And cried, " You shall hang, by the Lord ! " 

An' he snatched his watch out of his pocket, 
Just as if he'd bin drawin' a knife ; 
11 If in ten minutes more you don't speak, lad, 
There's the rope ! and good-by to dear life ! " 

There ! — you never see such a sight, mates, 
As that boy with his pale, pretty face : 

Proud, though, and steady with courage, 
Never thinking of asking for grace ! 



THE LITTLE HERO. 265 

Eight minutes went by, all in silence. 

Says the mate, then, " Speak, lad : say your say!" 
His eyes slowly filling with tear-drops, 

He, faltering, says, " May I pray ? " 

I'm a rough and a hard old tarpaulin 

As any blue-jacket afloat, 
But the salt water springs to my eyes, lads, 

And I felt my heart rise in my throat ! 

The mate kind o' trembled and shivered, 

And nodded his head in reply, 
And his cheek went all white of a sudden, 

And the hot light was quenched in his eye. 

An' he stood like a figure of marble, 

With his watch tightly grasped in his hand, 

An' the passengers all still around him — 
Ne'er the like was on sea or on land ! 

An 7 the little chap kneels on the deck there, 
An' his hands he clasps over his breast, 

As he must ha' done often at home, lads, 
At night-time, when goin' to rest. 

And soft comes the first words, " Our Father," 
Low and soft from that dear baby-lip, 

But -low as they was, heard like trumpet 
By each true man aboard o' that ship. 

Ev'ry bit o' that prayer, mates, he goes through, 

To " Forever and ever. Amen ! " 
And for all the bright gold of the Indies 

I wouldn't ha' heard him agen ! 

An' says he, when he'd finished, uprising, 
An' lifting his blue eyes above, 
*' Dear Lord Jesus, 0, take me to heaven, 
Back again to my own mother's love ! n 



266 



For a minute or two, like to magic, 

We stood every man like the dead, 
Then back to the mate's face comes running- 

The life-blood again, warm and red. 

Off his feet was that lad sudden lifted, 
An' clasped to the mate's rugged breast, 

And his husky voice muttered, " God bless you ! " 
As his lips to his forehead he pressed. 

If the ship hadn't been a good sailer, 

An' gone by herself right along, 
All had gone to old Davy, for all, lads, 

Was gathered around in that throng. 

Like a man, says the mate, " God forgive me, 

That ever I used you so hard ; 
It's myself as had ought to be strung up 

Taut and sure to that ugly old yard ! " 

You believe me now ? " then said the youngster. 
" Believe you ! " — he kissed him once more ; 
You'd have laid down your life for the truth, lad. 
Believe you ! From now evermore ! " 

An' p'raps, mates, he wasn't thought much on 
All that day, and the rest of the trip ; 

P'raps he paid, after all, for his passage ! 
P'raps he wasn't the pet of the ship ! 

And if that little chap ain't a model 

For all, young or old, short or tall, 
And if that ain't the stuff to make men of, 

Old Ben he knows naught after all ! 






THE HISTORICAL BOTCHER. 267 



THE HISTORICAL BUTCHER. 

WHAT d'ye buy, what d'ye buy — well, how are 
you ? How do you do ? I wery glad to see 
you ; how are all the family ? This is wery kind to 
call in this here way. I've been reading as usual all 
this here blessed morning, that favorite book of mine, 
Hume's History in England ; what a book that 'ere 
is ! How hinstructive and hentertaining Hume's His- 
tory in England is — ten pence a pound, ma'am. I've 
been reading the fourth wolum ; it's a wery thick 
un, wery thick indeed — make nice soup, ma'am. 
Queen Mary — make nice Scotch collops, ma'am. Sir 
Isaac Newton was a great man ; he knew all about 
the pole-axe of the fixed stars, and how long it would 
take a man to go in a taxed cart to the moon. Queen 
Elizabeth went to St. Paul's on a pillion — that saddle 
of mutton 's just your weight, ma'am. I've been read- 
ing, dear me, — I've been reading King Charles ; 
you've heard of him, han't you ? Hid himself in St. 
James's Park ever since ; no, it warn't St. James's 
Park, war it ? However, I know it was in some park ; 
but the wicked rascals caught him and cut off his head 

— make a capital hash, with parsley garnish, ma'am. 
Cardinal Wolsey's father was a butcher; so am I. 
There's a curious coincidence, an't it? And Henry 
the Eighth married Queen Elizabeth ; no, he didn't 
though, for she war his mother; no, that couldn't be 

— she warn't his mother — but she war some relation. 
King Henry the Eighth — that's a nice fat bit, ma'am ; 
take it wi' you. 



268 YOUNG folks' readings. 



BABIE BELL. 



HAVE you not heard the poets tell 
How came the dainty Babie Bell 

Into this world of ours ? 
The gates of heaven were left ajar : 

With folded hands and dreamy eyes, 

Wandering out of Paradise, 
She saw this planet, like a star, 

Hung in the glittering depths of even, 
Its bridges, runuing to and fro, 
O'er which the white-winged angels go, 

Bearing the holy dead to heaven ! 
She touched a bridge of flowers, those feet, 

So light they did not bend the bells 

Of the celestial asphodels ! 
They fell like dew upon the flowers, 

Then all the air grew strangely sweet ; 
And thus came dainty Babie Bell 

Into this world of ours. 



She came and brought delicious May, 
The swallows built beneath the eaves ; 
Like sunlight in and out the leaves, 

The robins went, the livelong day ; 

The \i\y swung its noiseless bell, 

And o'er the porch the trembling vine 
Seemed bursting with its veins of wine ; 

How sweetly, softly, twilight fell ! 

0, earth was full of singing birds, 
And opening spring-tide flowers, 

When the dainty Babie Bell 
Came to this world of ours ! 



BABIE BELL. 269 

Babie, dainty Babie Bell, 
How fair she grew from day to day ! 

What woman-nature filled her eyes, 
What poetry within them lay ! 
Those deep and tender twilight eyes, 

So full of meaning, pure and bright, 

As if she yet stood in the light 
Of those ope'd gates of Paradise ! 
And so we loved her more and more ; 
Ah, never in our hearts before 

Was love so lovely born ; 
We felt we had a link between 
This real world and that unseen, 

The land beyond the morn. 

And now the orchards, which were white 
And red with blossoms when she came, 

Were rich in autumn's mellow prime, 
The clustered apples burnt like flame, 

The soft-cheeked peaches blushed and fell, 

The ivory chestnut burst its shell, 

The grape hung purpling in the grange, 

And time wrought just as rich a change 
In little Babie Bell. 

Her lissome form more perfect grew, 
And in her features we could trace, 
In softened curves, her mother's face. 

Her angel-nature ripened too, 

We thought her lovely when she came, 

But she was holy, saintty now, 
„ Around her pale angelic brow 

We saw a slender ring of flame ! 

God's hand had taken away the seal 
That held the portals of her speech ; 

And oft she said a few strange words, 
Whose meaning lay beyond our reach. 



270 YOUNG folks' readings. 

She never was a child to us, 

We never held her being's key ; 

We could not teach her holy things, 
She was Christ's self in purity. 

It came upon us by degrees, 

We saw its shadow ere it fell, 
The knowledge that our God had sent 

His messenger for Babie Bell. 

We shuddered with unlanguaged pain, 
And all our thoughts ran into tears, 

Like sunshine into rain. 

We cried aloud in our belief, 
" 0, smite us gently, gently, God ! 
Teach us to bend and kiss the rod, 

And perfect grow through grief." 
Ah, how we loved her, God can tell ; 
Her heart was folded deep in ours ; 

Our hearts are broken, Babie Bell. 

At last he came, the messenger, 

The messenger from unseen lands ; 
And what did dainty Babie Bell ? 

She only crossed her hands, 
She only looked more meek and fair ! 
We parted back her silken hair ; 
We wove the roses round her brow, 
White buds, the summer's drifted snow, 

Wrapped her from head to foot in flowers, 
And thus went dainty Babie Bell 

Out of this world of ours ! 

Thomas Bailey Aldrich. 



JIMMY BUTLER AND THE OWL. 271 



JIMMY BUTLER AND THE OWL. 

''"TWAS in the summer of '46 that I landed at 
. 1 Hamilton, fresh as a new pratie just dug from 
the " ould sod/' and wid a light heart and a heavy- 
bundle I sot off for the township of Buford, tiding a 
taste of a song, as merry a young fellow as iver took 
the road. Well, I trudged on and on, past many a 
plisint place, pleasin' meself wid the thought that 
some day I might have a place of me own, wid a 
world of chickens and ducks and pigs and childer 
about the door ; and along in the afternoon of the 
sicond day I got to Buford village. A cousin of me 
mother's, one Dennis O'Dowd, lived about sivin miles 
from there, and I wanted to make his place that night, 
so I inquired the way at the tavern, and was lucky to 
find a man who was goin' part of the way, an' would 
show me the way to find Dennis. Sure he was very 
kind indade, an' when I got out of his wagon he 
pointed me through the wood, and tould me to go 
straight south a mile and a half, and the first house 
would be Dennis's. 

"An' you've no time to lose now," said he, " for the 
sun is low, and mind you don't get lost in the woods." 

" Is it lost now," said I, " that I'd be gittin', an' me 
uncle as great a navigator as iver steered a ship across 
the thrackless say ! Not a bit of it, though I'm 
obleeged to ye for your kind advice, and thank yiz 
for the ride." 

An' wid that he drove off an' left me alone. I shoul- 
dered me bundle bravely, an' whistlin' a bit of time for 



272 YOUNG folks' readings. 

company like, I pushed into the bush. Well, I went a 
long way over bogs, an' turnin' among the bush an' 
trees, till I began to think I must he well nigh to Den- 
nis's. But, bad 'cess to it ! all of a sudden I came out 
of the woods at the very identical spot where I started 
in, which I knew by an ould crotched tree that seemed 
to be standin' on its head an' kickin' up its heels to 
make divarsion of me. By this time it was growin' 
dark, and as there was no time to lose, I started in a 
second time, detarmined to keep straight south this 
time, an' no mistake. I got on bravely for a while, 
but och hone ! och hone ! it got so dark I couldn't see 
the trees, an' I bumped me nose an' barked me shins, 
while the miskaties bit me hands and face to a blister ; 
an' afther tumblin' an' stumblin' around till I was fairly 
bamfoozled, I sat down on a log, all of a trimble, to 
think that I was lost intirely, an' that maybe a lion or 
some other wild craythur would devour me before 
mornin'. 

Just then I heard somebody a long way off say, 
" Whip poor Will ! " " Bedad," sez I, " I'm glad it 
isn't Jamie that's got to take it, though it seems it's 
more in sorrow than in anger they are doin' it, or why 
should they say ' poor Will ' ? An' sure they can't be 
Injin, haythin, or naygur, for it's plain English they're 
afther spakin'. Maybe they might help me out o' 
this ; " so I shouted at the top o' my voice, " A lost 
man ! " Thin I listened. Prisently an answer came. 

" Who ? Who-o ? Who-o-o ? " 

" Jamie Butler, the waiver," sez I, as loud as I could 
roar, an' snatchin' up me bundle an' stick, I started in 
the direction of the voice. Whin I thought I had got 
near the place, I stopped and shojuted again, " A lost 



JIMMY BUTLER AND THE OWL. 273 

"Who ! Who-o ! Who-o-o ! " said a voice right over 
me head. 

u Sure/' thinks I, " it's a mighty quare place for a 
man to be at this time of night ; maybe it's some set- 
tler scrapin' sugar off a sugar-bush for the children's 
breakfast in the mornin'. But where's Will and the 
rest of 'em ? " All this wint through me head like a 
flash, an' thin I answered his inquiry. 

" Jamie Butler, the waiver," sez I; " an' if it wouldn't 
inconvanience yer honor, would yez be kind enough to 
step down and show me the way to the house of Den- 
nis O'Dowd ? " 

" Who ! Who-o ! Who-o-o ! " sez he. 

" Dennis O'Dowd," sez I, civil enough; " an' a dacint 
man he is, an' first cousin to me own mother." 

" Who ! Who-o ! Who-o-o ! " sez he again. 

" Me mother," sez I ; " an' as fine a woman as iver 
peeled a biled pratie wid her thumb-nail ; an' her 
maiden name was Molly McFiggin." 

" Who ! Who-o ! Who-o-o ! " 

" Paddy McFiggin ! bad luck to yer deaf ould head, 
Paddy -McFiggin, I say ; do ye hear that ? An' he 
was the tallest man in all the county Tipperary, excipt 
Jim Doyle, the blacksmith." 

« Who ! Who-o ! Who-o-o ! " 

" Jim Doyle, the blacksmith," sez I, " ye good-for- 
nothin' blaggurd naygur ; an' if yiz don't come down 
and show me the way this min't, I'll climb up there an' 
break every bone in yer skin, ye spalpeen, so sure as 
me name is Jamie Butler ! " 

" Who ! Who-o ! Who-o-o ! " sez he, as impident as 
iver. 

I said niver a word, but layin' down me bundle, an' 
18 



274 YOUNG folks' readings. 

takin' me stick in me teeth, I began to climb the tree. 
Whin I got among the branches I looked quietly 
around till I saw a pair of big eyes just forninst me. 

" Whist," sez I, " an' I'll let him have a taste of an 
Irish stick ; " an' wid that I let dhrive, and lost me bal- 
ance, an' came tumblin' to the ground, nearly breakin' 
me neck wid the fall. Whin I came to me sinsis I had 
a very sore head, wid a lump on it like a goose-egg, 
and half of me Sunday coat-tail torn off intirely. I 
spoke to the chap in the tree, but could git niver an 
answer at all at all. 

" Sure," thinks I, "he must have gone home to rowl 
up his head, for by the powers I didn't throw me stick 
for nothin'." 

Well, by this time the moon was up, and I could see 
a little, and I detarmined to make one more effort to 
reach Dennis's. 

I wint on cautiously for a while, an' thin I heard a 
bell. " Sure," sez I, " I'm comin' to a settlement now, 
for I hear the church-bell." I kept on toward the 
sound till I came to an ould cow wid a bell on. She 
started to lun, but I was too quick for her, and got 
her by the tail and hung on, thinkin' that maybe she 
would take me out of the woods. On we wint, like an 
ould country steeple-chase, till, sure enough, we came 
out to a clearin', an' a house in sight wid a light in it. 
So, leavin' the ould cow puffin' and blowin' in a shed, 
I wint to the house, and, as luck would have it, whose 
should it be but Dennis's. 

He gave me a raal Irish welcome, and introduced 
me to his two daughters, as purty a pair of girls as 
iver ye clapped an eye on. But whin I tould him me 
adventure in the woods, and about the fellow who 



bachelor's hall. 275 

made fun of me, they all laughed and roared, and 
Dennis said it was an owl. 

"An ould what ? " sez L 

" Why, an owl — a bird/' sez he. 

u Do ye tell me now ? " sez I. " Sure it's a quare 
country and a quare bird." 

An' thin they all laughed again, till at last I laughed 
myself, that hearty like, and dropped right into a chair 
between the two purty girls, and the ould chap winked 
at me and roared again. 

Dennis is me father-in-law now, and he often yet 
delights to tell our children about their daddy's adven- 
ture wid the owl. 



BACHELOR'S HALL. 

BACHELOR'S hall ] What a quare-lookin' place it is ! 
Save me from sich all the days o' my life ! 
Sure, but I think what a burnin' disgrace it is 
Niver at all to be gettin' a wife ! 

Pots, dishes, an' pans, an' sich grasy commodities, 
Ashes and pratie-skins, kiver the floor ; 

The cupboard 's a storehouse of comical oddities, 
Things that had niver been neighbors before. 

Say the ould bachelor, gloomy an' sad enough, 

Placin' his tay-kettle over the fire ; 
Soon it tips over — Saint Patrick ! he's mad enough, 

If he were prisent, to fight with the squire ! 

He looks for the platter — Grimalkin is scourin' it ; 

Sure, at a baste like that, swearin 's no sin ! 
His dish-cloth is missing, — the pigs are devourin' it. 

Thunder and turf ! what a pickle he's in ! 



276 YOUNG folks' headings. 

Late in the aiv'nin' he goes to bed shiverin'; 

Niver a bit is the bed made at all ; 
He crapes like a terrapin under the kiverin'; 

Bad luck to the picture of bachelor's hall ! 



SHELLING PEAS. 

NO, Tom, you may banter as much as you please ; 
But it's all the result of the shellin' them peas. 
Why, I hadn't the slightest idea, do you know, 
That so serious a matter would out of it grow. 
I tell you what, Tom, I do feel kind o' scared. 
I dreamed it, I hoped it, but never once dared 
To breathe it to her. And, besides, I must say 
I always half fancied she fancied Jim Wray. 
So I felt kind o' stuffy and proud, and took care 
To be out of the way when that feller was there 
A-danglin' around ; for thinks I, if it's him, 
That Katy likes best, what's the use lookin grim 
At Katy or Jim, for it's all up with me ; 
And I'd better jest let 'em alone, do you see ? 
But you wouldn't have thought it ; that girl never 

keered 
The snap of a pea-pod for Jim's bushy beard. 
Well, here's how it was. 1 was takin' some berries 
Across near her garden to leave at Aunt Mary's, 
When, jest as I come to the old ellum-tree, 
All alone in the shade that June mornin' was she, 
Shellin' peas — setting there on a garden settee. 
I swan, she was handsomer 'n ever I seen, 
Like a rose all alone in a moss-work of green. 
Well, there wasn't no use ; so says I, " I'll jest linger 
And gaze at her here, behind a syringa." 
But she heard me a-movin', and looked a bit frightened. 
So I come and stood near her. I fancied she brightened, 



SHELLING PEAS, 277 

And seemed sort o' pleased. So I hoped she was well, 
And — would she allow me to help her to shell ? 
For she sat with a monstrous big dish full of peas, 
Jest fresh from the vines, which she held on her knees. 
" May I help you, Miss Katy ? " says I. "As you please, 
Mr. Baxter/' says she. '■' But you're busy, I guess," — 
Glancin' down at my berries, and then at her dress. 
" Not the least. There's no hurry. It ain't very late ; 
And I'd rather be here ; and Aunt Mary can wait." 
So I sot down beside her ; an' as nobody seen us, 
I jest took the dish and I held it between us. 
And I thought to myself, " I must make an endeavor 
To know which she likes, Jim or me, now or never." 
But I couldn't say nothin'. We sot there and held 
That green pile between us. She shelled and I shelled ; 
And pop went the pods ; and I couldn't help thinkin' 
Of popping the question. A kind of a sinkin' 
Come over my spirits, till at last I got out 
" Mister Wray 's an admirer of yours, I've no doubt ; 
You see him quite often." " Well, sometimes. But why ? 
And what if I did ? " " 0, well, nothin'," says I. 
" Some folks says you're goin' to marry him, though." 
" Who says so ? " says she ; and she flared up like tow 
When you throw in a match. " Well, some folks that I 

know." 
" 'Tain't true, sir," says she. And she snapped a big 

pod, 
Till the peas, right and left, flew all over the sod. 
Then I looked in her eyes ; but she only looked down, 
With a blush that she tried to chase off with a frown. 
" Then it's somebody else you like better," says I. 
" No, it ain't, though," says she ; and I thought she 

would cry. 
Then I tried to say somethin' ; it stuck in my throat, 
And all my ideas were upset and afloat. 
But I said I knew somebody 'd loved her so long — 
Though he never had told her — with feelin's so strong, 
He was ready to die at her feet, if she chosed, 
If she only could love him I — I hardly supposed 



278 YOUNG folks' readings. 

That she cared for him much, though. And so, Tom, — 

and so, — 
For I thought that I saw how the matter would go, — 
With my heart all a-jumpin' with rapture, I found 
I had taken her hand, and my arm was around 
Her waist ere I knew it ; and she with her head 
On my shoulder, — but no, I won't tell what she said. 
The birds sang above us ; our secret was theirs ; 
The leaves whispered soft in the wandering airs. 
I tell you the world was a new world to me. 
I can talk of these things like a book now, you see. 
But the peas ? Ah, the peas in the pods were a mess 
Rather bigger than those that we shelled, you may guess. 
It's risky to set with a girl shellin' peas. 
You may tease me now, Tom, just as much as you please. 

C. P. Chanch. 



THE TWO WEAVERS. 

AS at their work two weavers sat, 
Beguiling time with friendly chat, 
They touched upon the price of meat, 
So high a weaver scarce could eat. 

" What with my babes and sickly wife," 
Quoth Dick, " I'm almost tired of life ; 
So hard we work, so poor we fare, 
'Tis more than mortal man can bear. 

" How glorious is the rich man's state ! 
His house so fine, his wealth so great ! 
Heaven is unjust, you must agree : 
Why all to him, and none to me ? 

" In spite of what the Scripture teaches, 
In spite of all the pulpit preaches, 
This world -•— indeed, I've thought so long 
Is ruled, methinks, extremely wrong. 



THE TWO WEAVERS. 279 

" Where'er I look, howe'er I range, 
'Tis all confused, and hard, and strange ; 
The good are troubled and opprest, 
And all the wicked are the blest." 

Quoth John, " Our ignorance is the cause 
Why thus we blame our Maker's laws ; 
Parts of his ways alone we know. 
'Tis all that man can see below. 

" Seest thou that carpet, not half done, 
Which thou, dear Dick, hast well begun ? 
Behold the wild confusion there ! 
So rude the mass, it makes one stare ! 

"A stranger, ignorant of the trade, 
Would say, no meaning ; s there conveyed ; 
For where's the middle, where's the border ? 
Thy carpet is now all disorder." 

Quoth Dick, " My work is yet in bits, 
But still in every part it fits ; 
Besides, you reason like a lout ; 
Why, man, that carpet 's inside out." 

Says John, " Thou sayst the thing I mean ; 
And now I hope to cure thy spleen : 
This world, which clouds thy soul with doubt, 
Is but a carpet inside out. 

"As when we view the shreds and ends, 
We know not what the whole intends ; 
So, when on earth things look but odd, 
They're working still some scheme of God. 

" No plan, no pattern can we trace ; 
All wants proportion, truth, and grace. 
The motley mixture we deride, 
Nor see the beauteous upper side. 



280 YOUNG folks' readings. 

" But when we reach the world of light, 
And view these works of God aright, 
Then shall we see the whole design, 
And own the Workman is divine. 

" What now seem random strokes, will there 
All order and design appear ; 
Then shall we praise what here we spurned, 
For then the carpet will be turned." 

" Thou'rt right," quoth Dick ; (l no more I'll 

grumble 
That this world is so strange a jumble. 
My impious doubts are put to flight, 
For my own carpet sets me right." 

Hannah Mobs. 



THE ART OF CONVERSATION. 

FIRST party (opening conversation) : " 'Ave you 'eard 
as Jim Bates's father says he'll give 'im the sack ? " 
Second ditto (after pause): " Whose father?" — First 
ditto: "Why, Jim Bates's!" — Second ditto (after 
pause) : " Jim Bates's who ? " — First ditto : " Why, 
Jim Bates's father ! " — Second ditto (after pause) : 
" Jim Bates's father ! Well, what does he say ? " — 
First ditto : "Says he'll give 'im the sack !" — Second 
ditto (after pause) : " Give 'im the what ? " — First 
ditto : " Give 'im the sack ! " — Second ditto (after 
pause) : " Give who the sack ? " — First ditto : " Why, 
Jim Bates ! " — Second ditto (after long pause) : " Ah, 
I 'eard that the day before yesterday ! " 

Punch. 



BOBBY. 281 



BOBBY. 



A HIGHLAND family of some dignity, but not 
ii much means, was to receive a visit from some 
English relations for the first time. Great was the 
anxiety and great the efforts to make things wear a 
respectable appearance before these assumedly fastid- 
ious strangers. The lady bad contrived to get up a 
pretty good dinner ; but, either from an indulgent dis- 
position, or from some defect in her set of servants, 
she allowed her son Bobby, a little boy, to be present, 
instead of remanding him to the nursery. But little 
was she aware of Bobby's power of torture. 

Bobby, who was dressed in a new jacket and a pair 
of buff- colored trousers, had previously received strict 
injunctions to sit at a side table quietly, and on no 
account to join in conversation. For a little while he 
carried out these instructions by sitting perfectly 
quiet till the last guest had been helped to soup, 
whereupon, during a slight lull in the general conver- 
sation, Bobby quietly said, — 

61 I want some soup, mamma." 

" You can't be allowed to have any soup, Bobby. 
You must not always be asking for things." 

" If you don't give me some soup immediately, I'll 
tell yon ! " 

The lady seemed a little troubled, and instead of 
sending Bobby out of the room, quietly yielded to his 
demand. Soup being removed, and fish introduced, 
there was a fresh demand. 

" Mamma, I want some sea-fish " (a rarity in the 
Highlands). 



282 YOUNG folks' readings. 

" Bobby," said the mother, " you are very forward. 
You can't get any fish. You must sit quietly, and not 
trouble us so much.'' 

" Well, mamma, if I don't get some fish, mind I'll tell 
yon ! " 

" Bobby, you're a plague ! " and then she gave 
him the fish. 

A little further on in the dinner, Bobby, observing 
his papa and the guests taking wine, was pleased to 
break in once more. 

" Papa, I would like a glass of wine ! " 

By this time, as might well be supposed, the atten- 
tion of the company had been pretty fully drawn to 
Bobby, about whom, in all probability, there prevailed 
but one opinion. The father was irritated at the 
incident. 

" Bobby, you must be quiet ; you can have no 
wine." 

" Well, papa, if I don't get some wine, mind — I'll 
tell yon, 11 

" You rascal, you shall have no wine." 

" You had better do it," answered Bobby, firmly. 
" Once, twice — will you give me the wine ? Come 
now, mind 111 tell yon. Once, twice — " 

The father looked canes and lashes at his progeny. 
Bobby, however, was not to be daunted. 

" Here goes now ! Once — twice — will you do it? 
O nce — twice — thrice ! My trousers were made 
out of mother's old window curtains ! " 

Stiff English party dissolves in unconstrainable 
merriment. 

Dk. Robert Chambers. 



THE LEGEND OP THE ORGAN- BUILDER. 283 



THE LEGEND OF THE ORGAN-BUILDER. 

DAY by day the Organ-Builder in his lonely chamber 
wrought ; 
Day by day the soft air trembled to the music of his 
thought ; 

Till at last the work was ended ; and no organ voice so 

grand 
Ever yet had soared responsive to the master's magic hand. 

Ay, so rarely was it builded that whenever groom and 

bride, 
Who in God's sight were well-pleasing, in the church stood 

side by side, 

Without touch or breath the organ of itself began to play, 
And the very airs of heaven through the soft gloom 
seemed to stray. 

He was young, the Organ-Builder, and o'er all the land 

his fame 
Ran with fleet and eager footsteps, like a swiftly rushing 

flame. 

All the maidens heard the story ; all the maidens blushed 

and smiled, 
By his youth and wondrous beauty and his great renown 

beguiled. 

So he sought and won the fairest, and the wedding-day 

was set : 
Happy day — the brightest jewel in the glad year's coronet ! 

But when they the portal entered, he forgot his lovely 

bride — • 
Forgot his love, forgot his God, and his heart swelled 

high with pride. 



284 YOUNG folks' readings. 

"Ah ! " thought he, "how great a master am I ! When 

the organ plays, 
How the vast cathedral-arches will re-echo with my praise ! " 

Up the aisle the gay procession moved. The altar shone 

afar, 
With its every candle gleaming through soft shadows 

like a star. 

But he listened, listened, listened, with no thought of 
love or prayer, 

For the swelling notes of triumph from his organ stand- 
ing there. 

All was silent. Nothing heard he save the priest's low 

monotone, 
And the bride's robe trailing softly o'er the floor of 

fretted stone. 

Then his lips grew white with anger. Surely God was 

pleased with him 
Who had built the wondrous organ for his temple vast 

and dim ! 

Whose the fault, then ? Hers — the maiden standing 

meekly at his side ! 
Flamed his jealous rage, maintaining she was false to 

him — his bride. 

Vain were all her protestations, vain her innocence and 

truth ; 
On that very night he left her to her anguish and her ruth, 

Far he wandered to a country wherein no man knew his 

name ; 
For ten weary years he dwelt there, nursing still his 

wrath and shame. 

Then his haughty heart grew softer, and he thought by 

night and day 
Of the bride he had deserted, till he hardly dared to pray ; 



THE LEGEND OF THE ORGAN-BUILDER. 285 

Thought of her, a spotless maiden, fair and beautiful and 

good; 
Thought of his relentless anger, that had cursed her 

womanhood ; 

Till his yearning grief and penitence at last were all 

complete, 
And he longed, with bitter longing, just to fall down at 

her feet. 



Ah ! how throbbed his heart when, after many a weary 

day and night, 
Rose his native towers before him, with the sunset glow 

alight ! 

Through the gates into the city on he pressed with eager 

tread ; 
There he met a long procession — mourners following 

the dead. 

" Now why weep ye so, good people ? and whom bury 

ye to-day ? 
Why do yonder sorrowing maidens scatter flowers along 

the way ? 

"Has some saint gone up to heaven?" "Yes," they 

answered, weeping sore ; 
" For the Organ-Builder's saintly wife our eyes shall see 

no more ; 

'* And because her days were given to the service of 

God's poor, 
From His church we mean to bury her. See ! yonder is 

the door." 

No one knew him ; no one wondered when he cried out, 

white with pain ; 
No one questioned when, with pallid lips, he poured his 

tears like rain. 



286 YOUNG folks' readings. 

" 'Tis some one whom she has comforted who mourns 

with us/' they said, 
As he made his way unchallenged, and bore the coffin's 

head ; 

Bore it through the open portal, bore it up the echoing 

aisle, 
Let it down before the altar, where the lights burned 

clear the while : 

When, 0, hark ! the wondrous organ of itself began to 

play 
Strains of rare, unearthly sweetness never heard until 

that day ! 

All the vaulted arches rang with the music sweet and 

clear ; 
All the air was filled with glory, as of angels hovering 

near; 

And ere yet the strain was ended, he who bore the 

coffin's head, 
With the smile of one forgiven, gently sank beside it — 

dead. 

They who raised the body knew him, and they laid him 

by his bride ; 
Down the aisle and o'er the threshold they were carried, 

side by side ; 

While the organ played a dirge that no man ever heard 
before, 

And then softly sank to silence — silence kept for ever- 
more. 

Harper's Magazine. 



UNDER THE WAGON. 287 



UNDER THE WAGON. 

" /^OME, wife/' says good old Farmer-Gray, 
\j " Put on your things ; 'tis market-day : 
Let's be off to the nearest town — 
There and back ere the sun goes down. 
Spot! No, we'll leave old Spot behind." 
But Spot he barked, and Spot he whined, 
And soon made up his doggish mind 
To steal away under the wagon. 

Away they went at a good round pace, 
And joy came into the farmer's face. 
" Poor Spot," said he, u did want to come, 
But I'm very glad he's left at home. 
He'll guard the barn and guard the cot, 
And keep the cattle out of the lot." 
" I'm not so sure of that," growled Spot, 
The little dog under the wagon. 

The farmer all his produce sold, 
And got his pay in yellow gold, 
Then started home, just after dark — 
Home through the lonely forest. Hark ! 
A robber springs from behind a tree : 
" Your money or else your life ! " said he. 
The moon was out, yet he didn't see 
The little dog under the wagon. 

Old Spot he barked, old Spot he whined, 
And Spot he grabbed the thief behind 
And dragged him down in mud and dirt. 
He tore his coat and tore his shirt ; 
He held him with a whisk and bound, 
And he couldn't rise from the miry ground ; 
While his legs and arms the farmer bound, 
And tumbled him into the wagon. 

Old Spot he saved the farmer's life, 
The farmer's money, the farmer's wife ; 



288 YOUNG folks' readings. 

And now a hero, grand and gay, 
A silver collar he wears to-day ; 
And everywhere his master goes, 
Among his friends, among his foes, 
He follows upon his horny toes, 
The little dog under the wagon ! 



A BOY'S JOURNAL. 

THERE is much to be said in favor of keeping a 
regular account of our doings from day to day. 
The following is an American boy's attempt in this 
line : — 

March 12. Have resolved to keep a journal. 

March 13. Had rost befe for diner, and cabages, 
and potato, and appel sawse, and rice puding. I do 
not like rice puding when it is like ours. Charley 
Slack's kind is rele good. Mush and sirup for tea. 

March 19. Forgit what did. John and me saved 
our pie to take to schule. 

March 21. Forgit what did. G-ridel cakes for 
breakfast. Debby didn't fry enuff. 

March 24. This is Sunday. Corn befe for diner. 
Studdied 'my Bible lesson. Aunt Issy said I was 
gredy. Have resollved not to think so much about 
things to ete. Wish I was a better boy. Nothing 
peftikeler for tea. 

March 25. Forgit what did. 

March 27. Forgit what did. 

March 29. Played. 

March 31. Forgit what did. 

April 1. Have dissided not to keep a journal no 
more. 



THE LAST SERPENT. 289 

THE LAST SERPENT. 

AN IRISH LEGEND. 

EVERYBODY has heard of St. Patrick, and how 
he bothered the vermin of Ireland, and drove all 
manner of venomous things out of the land into the 
sea. 

But there was one old serpent too cunning to be 
talked out of the country, and to drown himself. The 
Saint did not know well how to manage this fellow ; 
but at last he bethought him of getting a strong iron 
chest, with nine bolts to it. So one fine morning the 
Saint takes a walk to where the serpent used to 
sleep. Not liking his reverence in the least, the 
brute began to hiss and show his teeth. 

" 0," says St. Patrick, " what is the use of making so 
much ado about a gentleman like myself coming to see 
you ? Here is a nice house that I have got for you 
to winter in ; for I am to civilize the whole country, 
man and beast." 

Hearing such smooth words, the serpent thought 
no harm meant to himself ; so, fair and easy, he comes 
up to see the saint and his house. But the sight of 
the nine bolts made him think of making off with 
himself. 

" 'Tis a warm house, you see," says St. Patrick, 
" and a good friend I am to you." 

u I thank you kindly for your civility," says the ser- 
pent, turning away, " but it is too small for me." 

" Too small ! " cried the saint ; " you are out there, 
19 



290 YOUNG folks' readings. 

my boy, anyhow. I stake a gallon of porter that if 
yon only try to get in yon will find in it plenty of 
room." 

The serpent was thirsty, and with great joy he set 
himself to do St. Patrick out of the gallon of porter; 
so, swelling himself up as big as he could, he got into 
the chest all but a little bit of his tail. 

" There, now," cried he, " I have won the gallon, 
for I cannot get in my tail." 

What does St. Patrick do ? Coming behind the 
great heavy lid, and putting his two hands to it, he 
slaps it down with a bang like thunder. The rogue 
of a serpent, when the lid was coming down, whipped 
in his tail, for fear it might be whipped off; and the 
Saint at once began to bolt the nine bolts. 

" 0, murder ! let me out ! let me out ! St. Patrick," 
cried the serpent ; " I have lost the gallon, and I will 
pay for it like a man." / 

" Let you out, my darling ! " cried the Saint ; " to 
be sure I will, by all manner of means ; but I have no 
time now, so you must wait till to-morrow." Then 
he pitched the chest into the lake, where it is to this 
hour ; and it is the serpent struggling at the bottom 
that makes the waves upon it. 

Many a living man has heard the serpent crying 
from under the water, " Is it to-morrow yet ? Is it 
to-morrow yet ? " which, to be sure, it never can be ; 
and this is the way that St. Patrick settled the last 
of the serpents. 

T. Cbofton Ceokeb. 



A DOMESTIC SCENE. 291 



A DOMESTIC SCENE. 

CHILD. — Mother, I want a piece of cake. 
Mother. — I haven't got any ; it's all gone. 

Child. — I know there's some in the cupboard ; I 
saw it when you opened the door. 

Mother. — Well, you don't need any more. Cake 
hurts children. 

Child. — No it don't (whining). I do want a piece. 
Mother, mayn't I have a piece ? 

Mother. — Be still; I can't get up now. I'm busy. 

Child (crying aloud). — I want a piece of cake ! I 
want a piece of cake ! 

Mother. — Be still, I say. I shan't give you a bit 
if you don't leave off crying. 

Child (still crying). — 1 want a piece of cake ! I 
want a piece of cake ! 

Mother (rising hastily, and reaching a piece}. — 
There, take that ; and hold your tongue. Eat it up 
quick. There's Ben coming. Don't tell him you 
have had some cake, now. 

(Ben enters.) 

Child. — I've had a piece of cake, Ben ; you can't 
have any. 

Ben. — Yes, I will. Mother, give me a piece. 

Mother (very cross). — There, take that ! It seems 
as if I never could keep a bit of anything in the house. 
You'll see, sir, if I give you any another time. 
(Another room.) 

Child. — I've had a piece of cake. 

Younger Sister. — 0, I want some, too. 

Child. — Well, you bawl, and mother'll give you 
a bit, I did. 



292 YOUNG folks' readings. 



THE SWEETS OF LIBERTY. 



A GENEROUS tar, who long had been 
In foreign prison pent, 
Released at length, returned again 
Brimful of merriment. 

A man who had some birds to sell 

Was just then passing by ; 
Jack glanced at the poor fluttering things 

With sorrowing, pitying eye. 

He paused amid the gaping throng-, 

Before the seller's stall : 
" Now hark ye, friend, just name your price 

For birds and cage and all." 

The price was named, the sum was paid, 

The sailor seized the prize ; 
And quickly from the opened door 

A young canary flies. 

" Stop ! " cried the bird-seller, amazed, 

" They're all escaping fast." 
" That's right," said Jack, and held the door 

Till all were gone at last. 

" Had you," said Jack, " been doomed, like me, 

In prison long to lie, 
You'd better understand, my friend, 

The sweets of liberty." 



A LETTER OF BLUNDERS. 293 



A LETTER OF BLUNDERS. 

PERHAPS the best collection of blunders, such as 
occur in all nations, but which, of course, are 
fathered upon Paddy wholesale, as if by common 
consent, is the following: — 

Copy of a Letter written during the Rebellion by an 
Irish Member of Parliament, to his friend in 
London. 

My dear Sir : Having now a little peace and quiet- 
ness, I sit down to inform you of the dreadful bustle 
and confusion we are in from these bloodthirsty rebels, 
most of whom are, I am glad to say, killed and dis- 
persed. We are in a pretty mess, can get nothing to 
eat, nor wine to drink, except whiskey, and when we 
sit down to dinner we are obliged to keep both hands 
armed. Whilst I write this, I hold a sword in each 
hand and a pistol in the other. I concluded from the 
beginning that this would be the end of it, and I see I 
was right, for it is not half over yet. At present 
there are such goings on that everything is at a stand- 
still. 

I should have answered your letter a fortnight ago, 
but I did not receive it till this morning. Indeed, 
scarcely a mail arrives safe without being robbed. No 
longer ago than yesterday the coach with the mails 
from Dublin was robbed near this town ; the bags had 
been judiciously left behind for fear of accident, and 
by good luck there was nobody in it but two outside 
passengers, who had nothing for the thieves to take. 



294 YOUNG folks' readings. 

Last Thursday notice was given that a gang of reb- 
els was advancing here under the French standard, 
but they had no colors , nor any drums except bag- 
pipes. Immediately every man in the place, including 
women and children, ran out to meet them. We soon 
found our force much too little ; we were far too near 
to think of retreating. Death was in every face, but 
to it we went, and by the time half our little party 
were killed, we began to be all alive again. Fortu- 
nately the rebels had no guns, except pistols, cutlasses, 
and pikes, and as we had plenty of muskets and am- 
munition, we put them all to the sword. Not a soul 
of them escaped, except some that were drowned in 
an adjacent bog, and, in a very short time, nothing 
was to be heard but silence. Their uniforms were all 
different colors, but mostly green. After the action 
we went to rummage a sort of camp, which they had 
left behind them. All we found was a few pikes 
without heads, a parcel of empty bottles full of water, 
and a bundle of French commissions filled up with 
Irish names. Troops are now stationed all round the 
country, which exactly squares with my ideas. 

I have only time to add that I am in great haste. 
Yours truly, 



P. S. If you do not receive this, of course it must 
have miscarried, therefore I beg you will write to let 
me know. 



ON THE RAMPARTS BARE. 295 



"ON THE RAMPARTS BARE, STOOD THE 
LADY FAIR." 

ON the ramparts bare, stood the lady fair, 
And the cold winds around her blew. 
She called to the warder to take good care, 
And the warder was bold and true. 

"0 warder! guard the watch-lights well — 
Not a star 7 s to be seen to-night, 
But the breezes swell, and the signals tell 
That the fleet of my lord is in sight." 

" lady dear ! The fire burns clear, 
And the drawbridge is ready to fall, 
And the yeomen stand by the road on the sand 
To guard thy lord to his hall." 

'* Me thinks I hear the battle rage 

And the fugitives fly o'er the strand." 

" 'Tis only a page who brings this gage 
That the fleet of thy lord is at hand." 

" And dost thou tell that my lord is well ? 

Doth conquest crown his toil ? " 
" On victory's wings he met the sea-kings, 

And fought with the lord of the Isle." 

" Let the castle-gate be opened straight, 
And the blazing torches light ; 
And haste, Montjoie, and wake my boy ! — 
He shall see his dear father to-night. 

" And dost thou weep, when awaked from sleep, 
On the night of such festal glee ; 
Thou didst oft inquire if thou hadst a sire, 
And a noble sire thou shalt see. 



296 YOUNG folks' readings. 

" So straight and so tall he stands in the hall, 
The chief of a thousand for grace, 
Though the deeds he hath done and the battles he 
hath won 
Have marred and scarred his face. 

" Betray no fear when the trumpets cheer, 
For a soldier's boy thou art ; 
Thy blood must not quail at the cold iron mail * 
When pressed to a hero's heart. 

" Thou wast but a babe when he went to fight ; 
Thou art now a sprightly boy ; 
Thy father will clasp thee with fond delight, 
And thy mother will weep for joy. 

" When weak and pale with many an ail 
I held thee in my arms ; 
While others slept I prayed and we.pt, 
And gazed on thy faded charms. 

" ' Sir Arthur's race will be lost,' I said, 
' His honors a stranger shall seize ; 
The father will die in victory's bed, 
And the boy will die of disease.' 

" But rosy and sleek is thy youthful cheek, 
And thy sire is crowned with success ; 
And unborn swains who till these plains 
The line of Sir Arthur shall bless. 

" Through the dubious gloom I see his plume, 
And his well-known voice I hear ; — - 
From the battle's strife to thy son and wife, 
Now welcome my lord most dear." 



COUNT CANDESPINA'S STANDARD. 297 



COUNT CANDESPINA'S STANDARD. 

" The King of Aragon now entered Castile, by way of Soria and 
Osma, with a powerful army ; and, having been met by the queen's 
forces, both parties encamped near Sepulveda, and prepared to give 
battle. 

"This engagement, called, from the field where it took place, 
(de la Espina,) is one of the most famous of that age. The das- 
tardly Count of Lara fled at the first shock, and joined the queen 
at Burgos, where she was anxiously awaiting the issue ; but the 
brave Count of Candespina (Gomez Gonzalez) stood his ground to 
the last, and died on the field of battle. His standard-bearer, a 
gentleman of the house of Olea, after having his horse killed under 
him, and both hands cut off by sabre-strokes, fell beside his master, 
still clasping the standard in his arms, and repeating his war-cry of 
1 Olea ! * " — Annals of the Queens op Spain. 

SCARCE were the splintered lances dropped, 
Scarce were the swords drawn out, 
Ere recreant Lara, sick with fear, 
Had wheeled his steed about: 

His courser reared, and plunged, and neighed, 

Loathing the fight to yield ; 
But the coward spurred him to the bone, 

And drove him from the field. 

Gonzalez in his stirrups rose : 

" Turn, turn, thou traitor knight ! 

Thou bold tongue in a lady's bower, 
Thou dastard in a fight ! " 

But vainly valiant Gomez cried 

Across the waning fray : 
Pale Lara and his craven band 

To Burgos scoured away. 

" Now, by the God above me, sirs, 
Better we all were dead, 
Than a single knight among ye all 
Should ride where Lara led ! 



298 YOUNG folks' readings. 

" Yet ye who fear to follow me, 
As yon traitor turn and fly ; 
For I lead ye not to win a field : 
I lead ye forth to die. 

" Olea, plant my standard here — 
Here on this little mound ; 
Here raise the war-cry of thy house, 
Make this our rallying ground. 

" Forget not, as thou hop'st for grace, 
The last care I shall have 
Will be to hear thy battle-cry, 
And see that standard wave." 

Down on the ranks of Aragon 

The bold Gonzalez drove, 
And Olea raised his battle-cry, 

And waved the flag above. 

Slowly Gonzalez' little band 
Gave ground before the foe ; 

But not an inch of the field was won 
Without a deadly blow ; 

And not an inch of the field was won 

That did not draw a tear 
From the widowed wives of Aragon, 

That fatal news to hear. 

Backward and backward Gomez fought, 
And high o'er the clashing steel, 

Plainer and plainer rose the cry, 
"Olea for Castile!" 

Backward fought Gomez, step by step, 
Till the cry was close at hand, 

Till his dauntless standard shadowed him ; 
And there he made his stand. 



299 



Mace, sword, and axe rang on his mail, 
Yet he moved not where he stood, 

Though each gaping joint of armor ran 
A stream of purple blood. 

As, pierced with countless wounds, he fell, 

The standard caught his eye, 
And he smiled, like an infant hushed asleep, 

To hear the battle-cry. 

Now one by one the wearied knights 

Have fallen, or basely flown ; 
And on the mound where his post was fixed 

Olea stood alone. 

" Yield up thy banner, gallant knight ! 
Thy lord lies on the plain ; 
Thy duty has been nobly done, 
I would not see thee slain." 

" Spare pity, King of Aragon I 
I would not hear thee lie : 
My lord is looking down from heaven 
To see his standard fly." 

" Yield, madman, yield ! thy horse is down, 
Thou hast nor lance nor shield ; 
Fly ! I will grant thee time." " This flag 
Can neither fly nor yield ! " 

They girt the standard round about, 

A wall of flashing steel ; 
But still they heard the battle-cry, 

" Olea for Castile ! " 

And there, against all Aragon, 
Full-armed with lance and brand, 

Olea fought until the sword 
Snapped in his sturdy hand. 



300 



Among the foe, with that high scorn 
Which laughs at earthly fears, 

He hurled the broken hilt, and drew 
His dagger on the spears. 

They hewed the hauberk from his breast, 

The helmet from his head ; 
They hewed the hands from off his limbs J 

From every vein he bled. 

Clasping the standard to his heart, 

He raised one dying peal, 
That rang as if a trumpet blew, — 

" Olea for Castile ! " 

Geo. H. Boker. 



A CLEVER TRICK. 

A YOUNG man, of eighteen or twenty, a student in 
the university, took a walk one day with a pro- 
fessor, who was commonly called the student's friend, 
such was his kindness to the young men whom it was 
his office to instruct. 

While they were walking together, and the profes- 
sor was seeking to lead the conversation to grave 
subjects, they saw a pair _of old shoes lying in the 
path, which they supposed belonged to a poor man 
who was at work in the field close by, and who had 
nearly finished his day's work. 

The young student turned to the professor, saying, 
" Let us play the man a trick. We will hide his shoes, 
and conceal ourselves behind those bushes, and watch 
to see his perplexity when he cannot find them." 



A CLEVER TRICK. 301 

" My dear friend," answered the professor, " we 
must never amuse ourselves at the expense of the 
poor. But you are rich, and you may give yourself a 
much greater pleasure by means of this poor man. 
Put a dollar in each shoe, and then we will hide our- 
selves." 

The student did so, and then placed himself with 
the professor, behind the bushes hard by, through 
which they could easily watch the laborer, and see 
whatever wonder or joy he might express. 

The poor man soon finished his work, and came 
across the field to the path, where he had left his coat 
and shoes. While he put on the coat, he slipped one 
foot into one of his shoes; but feeling something 
hard, he stooped down, and found the dollar. Aston- 
ishment and wonder were seen upon his countenance ; 
he gazed upon the dollar, turned it round, and looked 
again and again ; then he looked around on all sides 
but could see no one. Now he put the money into 
his pocket, and proceeded to put on the other shoe ; 
but how great was his astonishment when he found 
the other dollar ! His feelings overcame him : he fell 
upon his knees, looked up to heaven, and uttered 
aloud a fervent thanksgiving, in which he spoke of 
his wife, sick and helpless, and his children without 
bread, whom this timely bounty from some unknown 
hand would save from perishing. 

The young man stood there deeply affected, and 
tears filled his eyes. 



302 YOUNG folks' readings. 



KATIE LEE AND WILLIE GRAY. 

TWO brown heads with tossing curls, 
Red lips shutting over pearls, 
Bare feet, white, and wet with dew, 
Two eyes black, and two eyes blue — 
Little boy and girl are they, 
Katie Lee and Willie Gray. 

They were standing where a brook, 
Bending like a shepherd's crook, 
Flashed its silver, and thick ranks 
Of willow fringed its banks, 
Half in thought and half in play, 
Katie Lee and Willie Gray. 

They had cheeks like cherries red ; 

He was taller 'most a head ; 

She, with arms like wreaths of snow, 

Swung a basket to and fro 

(As they loitered, half in play), 

Chattering to Willie Gray. 

" Pretty Katie," Willie said, — 
And there came a dash of red 
Through the brownness of the cheek, — 
" Boys are strong, and girls are weak, 
And I'll carry, so I will, 
Katie's basket up the hill." 

Katie answered, with a laugh, — 
" You shall only carry half; " 
Then said, tossing back her curls, 
" Boys are weak as well as girls." 
Do you think that Katie guessed 
Half the wisdom she expressed ? 



KATIE LEE AND WILLIE GRAY. 303 

Men are only boys grown tall ; 
Hearts don't change much, after all ; 
And when, long years from that day, 
Katie Lee and Willie Gray 
Stood again beside the brook 
Bending like a shepherd's crook, — 

Is it strange that Willie said, 
While again a dash of red 
Crowned the brownness of his cheek, 
" I am strong and you are weak ; 
Life is but a slippery steep, 
Hung with shadows cold and deep. 

" Will you trust me, Katie dear — 
Walk beside me without fear ? 
May I carry, if I will, 
All your burdens up the hill ? " 
And she answered, with a laugh, 
" No, but you may carry half." 

Close beside the little brook. 
Bending like a shepherd's crook, 
Working with its silver hands 
Late and early at the sands, 
Stands a cottage, where to-day 
Katie lives with Willie Gray. 

In the porch she sits, and, lo ! 
Swings a basket to and fro, 
Vastly different from the one 
That she swung in years agone : 
This is long, and deep, and wide, 
And has — rockers at the side. 



304 YOUNG folks' readings. 



THE SAILOR'S CONSOLATION. 

ONE night came on a hurricane, 
The sea was mountains rolling", 
When Barney Buntline slued his quid, 

And said to Billy Bowline, 
" A strong nor'-wester ? s blowing, Bill ; 

Hark ! don't ye hear it roar now ? 
Lord help 'em, how I pities them 
Unhappy folks on shore now I 

" Foolhardy chaps as live in towns, 

What danger they are all in, 
And now lie quaking in their beds 

For fear the roof should fall in ; 
Poor creaturs ! how they envies us, 

And wishes — I've a notion — 
For our good luck in such a storm, 

To be upon the ocean ! 

" And as for them that's out all day 

On business from their houses, 
And late at night returning home, 

To cheer their babes and spouses ; 
While you and I, Bill, on the deck 

Are comfortably lying, 
My eyes ! what tiles and chimney-pots 

About their heads are flying ! 

" Both you and I have ofttimes heard 

How men are killed and undone, 
By overturns from carriages, 

By thieves, and fires in London. 
We know what risks these landsmen run, 

From noblemen to tailors : 
Then, Bill, let us thank Providence 

That you and I are sailors." 

William Pitt. 



THE LANGUAGE OF SIGNS. 305 



THE LANGUAGE OP SIGNS, OR TWO SIDES 
TO A STORY. 

KING James the Sixth, on removing to London, was 
waited upon by the Spanish ambassador, a man of 
learning, but who had an odd notion in his head that 
every country should have a professor of signs, to 
enable men of all languages to communicate with 
each other without the aid of speech. 

One day he lamented before the king that such 
people were not to be met with in all Europe. King 
James t en said, " Why, I have a professor of signs in 
the most remote college in my dominions ; it is at 
Aberdeen, a great way off — perhaps six hundred 
miles from here." 

" Were it ten thousand leagues off, I shall see him," 
said the ambassador, and expressed his determination 
to set out instanter, in order to have an interview with 
the Scottish professor of signs. 

The king, perceiving he had committed himself, 
caused an intimation to be Written to the University 
of Aberdeen, stating the case, and desiring the profes- 
sors to put him off, or make the best of him they 
could. 

The ambassador arrived, and was received with 
great solemnity. He immediately inquired which of 
them had the honor to be " Professor of Signs ; " but 
was told that the professor was absent in the High- 
lands, and would return nobody could say when. 

" I will," said he, "wait his return, though it were 
not for twelve months." 
20 



306 YOUNG FOLKS' READINGS. 

The professors, seeing this would not do, contrived 
the following stratagem. There was one Geordie, a 
butcher, blind of an eye, a droll fellow, with much wit 
and roguery about him. The butcher was told the 
story, and instructed how to comport himself in his 
new situation of " Professor of Signs." And he was 
enjoined on no account to utter a syllable. Geordie 
willingly undertook the office for a small bribe. The 
ambassador was then told to his infinite delight that 
the professor of signs was expected to arrive the next 
day. 

The next day came. Geordie, gowned and wigged, 
was placed in state in a room of the college. The 
Spaniard was then shown in, and left to converse 
with him as best he could, all of the professors waiting 
the issue with considerable anxiety. 

An amusing scene commenced. The ambassador 
held up one of his fingers to Geordie ; Geordie an- 
swered by holding up two of his. The ambassador 
held up three ; Geordie clinched his fist and looked 
stern. The ambassador then took an orange from his 
pocket, and showed it to Geordie, who, in return, 
pulled out a piece of barley-bread from his pocket, 
and exhibited it in a similar manner. The ambassa- 
dor then bowed to him and retired. 

When- the ambassador entered the room in which 
the professors were, they gathered about him and 
inquired his opinion of their learned brother. 

** He is a perfect miracle ! " said the ambassador. 
" I would not give him for the wealth of the Indies." 

" Well ! " exclaimed one of the professors, " how has 
he edified you ? " 

" Why," said the ambassador, " I first held up 



THE LANGUAGE OF SIGNS. 307 

one finger, denoting that there is one God ; he 
held up two, signifying that there are Father and 
Son ; I held up three, meaning the Father, Son, and 
Holy Ghost ; he clinched his hand to say that these 
three are one. I then took out an orange, signifying 
the goodness of God, who gives his creatures not only 
the necessaries, but the luxuries of life, upon which 
the wonderful man presented a piece of bread, show- 
ing that it was the staff of life, and preferable to every 
luxury." 

The professors were glad that matters had turned 
out so well ; and having got quit of the ambassador, 
who set out again for London that night, they called 
in Geordie to hear his version. 

" Well, Geordie, how have you come on, and what 
do you think of the man? " 

"The scoundrel!" exclaimed the butcher, "what 
did he do first, think ye ? He held up one finger, as 
much as to say you have only one eye ! Then I held 
up two, meaning that my one was as good as his two. 
Then the fellow held up three of his fingers, to say 
there were but three eyes between us ; and then I 
was so mad at him that I shut my fist and was going 
to strike him, and would have done it too, but for your 
sakes. He didn't stop there, but, forsooth, he took out 
an orange, as much as to say, your poor beggarly coun- 
try can't grow that ! I showed him a piece of a barley 
bannock, meaning that I didn't care a farthing for him 
or his trash either, so long as I had that. But by all 
that's good," continued Geordie, " I'm angry yet that 
I didn't break every bone in his body." 

Could two sides of a story be more opposed to one 
another ? 



308 YOUNG FOLKS' headings. 



THE EATEN. 

ONCE upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak 
and weary, 
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore ; 
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a 

tapping, 
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber 

door. 
" 'Tis some visitor," I muttered, " tapping at my cham- 
ber door — 

Only this, and nothing more." 

Ah, distinctly I remember, it was in the bleak December, 
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon 

the floor. 
Eagerly I wished the morrow : vainly I had sought to 

borrow 
From my books surcease of sorrow — sorrow for the lost 

Lenore — 
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name 

Lenore — 

Nameless here for evermore. 

And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple 
curtain, 

Thrilled me — filled me with fantastic terrors never felt 
before ; 

So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood re- 
peating, 

" 'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber 
door — 

Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber 
door ; 

This it is, and nothing more," 



THE RAVEN. 309 

Presently my soul grew stronger : hesitating then no 
longer, 

" Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I im- 
plore : 

But the fact is, I was napping, and so gently you came 
rapping, 

And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber 
door, 

That I scarce was sure I heard you " — Here I opened 
wide the door : 

Darkness there, and nothing more. 

Beep into that darkness peering, long I stood there, won- 
dering, fearing, 

Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream 
before ; 

But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no 
token, 

And the only word there spoken was the whispered word 
" Lenore ! " 

This / whispered, and an echo murmured back the word 
" Lenore ! " 

Merely this, and nothing more. 

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me 
burning, 

Soon again I heard a tapping, something louder than 
before. 

" Surely," said I, " surely that is something at my win- 
dow-lattice"; 

Let me see then what thereat is, and this mystery ex- 
plore — 

Let my heart be still a moment, and this mystery ex- 
plore ; — 

; Tis the wind, and nothing more." 

Open then I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and 

flutter, 
In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of 

yore. 



310 YOUNG FOLKS' ^READINGS. 

Not the least obeisance made he ; not an instant stopped 
or stayed he ; 

But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my cham- 
ber door — 

Perched upon a bust of Pallas, just above my chamber 
door — 

Perched, and sat, and nothing more. 

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling, 
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it 

wore, — 
" Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou/' I said, 

" art sure no craven ; 
Ghastly, grim, and ancient raven, wandering from the 

nightly shore, 
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian 

shore ? " 

Quoth the raven, "Nevermore ! " 

Much I marvelled this ungaiuly fowl to hear discourse so 

plainly, 
Though its answer, little meaning — little relevancy bore ; 
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being 
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber 

door — 
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber 

door — 

With such name as " Nevermore." 

But the raven sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only 
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did 

outpour. 
Nothing further then he uttered — not a feather then he 

fluttered — 
Till 1 scarcely more than muttered, " Other friends have 

flown before — 
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown 

before." 

Then the bird said, " Nevermore ! " 



THE RAVEN. 311 

Startled at the stillness, broken by reply so aptly spoken, 
•'Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock 

and store, 
Caught from some unhappy master, whom unmerciful 

disaster 
Followed fast and followed faster, till his song one burden 

bore — 
Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore, 
Of ' Never — nevermore ! ' " 

But the raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling, 
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and 

bust, and door, 
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking 
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of 

yore — 
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous 

bird of yore 

Meant in croaking " Nevermore ! " 

Thus I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing 

To the fowl, whose fiery eyes now burned into my 
bosom's core ; 

This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease re- 
clining 

On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated 
o'er, 

But whose velvet violet lining, with the lamp-light gloat- 
ing o'er, 

She shall press — ah ! nevermore ! 

Then methought the air grew denser, perfumed from an 

unseen censer 
Swung by seraphim, whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted 

floor. 
" Wretch ! " I cried, " thy God hath lent thee — by these 

angels he hath sent thee 
Respite — respite and nepenthe from thy memories of 

Lenore ! 



312 YOUNG folks' readings. 

Quaff, quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost 
Lenore !" 

Quoth the raven, " Nevermore ! " 

"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil! — prophet still, if 
bird or devil ! 

Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee 
here ashore, 

Desolate, yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchant- 
ed — 

On this home by Horror haunted — tell me truly, I im- 
plore — 

Is there — is there balm in Gilead ? — tell me — tell me, 
I implore ! " 

Quoth the raven, " Nevermore ! " 

" Prophet ! " said I, " thing of evil ! — prophet still, if 

bird or devil ! 
By that heaven that bends above us - — by that God we 

both adore, 
Tell this soul with sorrow laden, if, within the distant 

Aidenn, 
It shall clasp a sainted maiden, whom the angels name 

Lenore ; 
Clasp a fair and radiant maiden, whom the angels name 

Lenore ! " 

Quoth the raven, " Nevermore ! ,; 

" Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend ! " I 
shrieked, upstarting — 

" Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plu- 
tonian shore ! 

Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath 
spoken ! 

Leave my loneliness unbroken ! — quit the bust above my 
door ! 

Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from 
off my door ! " 

Quoth the raven, " Nevermore ! " 



HELEN'S BABIES. 313 

And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting 
On the pallid bust of Pallas, just above my chamber door ; 
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon that is 

dreaming, 
And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow 

on the floor ; 
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on 

the floor 

Shall be lifted — nevermore ! _ ■_ 

Edgar A. Poe. 



AN EVENING WITH HELEN'S BABIES. 

WITH a head full of pleasing fancies, I went down 
to supper. My new friends, Helen's babies, were 
unusually good. There were two of them. Budge, 
the elder, was five years of age, and Toddie had seen 
but three summers. Their ride seemed to have toned 
down their boisterousness and elevated their little 
souls ; their appetites exhibited no diminution of force ; 
but they talked but little, and all that they said was 
smart, funny, or startling — so much so that when, 
after supper, they invited me to put them to bed, I 
gladly accepted the invitation. Toddie disappeared 
somewhere, and came back very disconsolate. 

" Can't find my dolly's k'adle," he whined. 

11 Never mind, old pet," said I, soothingly. " Uncle 
will ride you on his foot." 

" But I want my dolly's k'adle," said he, piteously 
rolling but his lower lip. 

I remembered my experience when Toddie wanted 
to " shee wheels go wound," and I trembled. 

" Toddie," said I, in a tone so persuasive that it 
would be worth thousands a year to me, as a sales- 
man, if I could only command it at will ; " Toddie, 
don't you want to ride on uncle's back?" 



314 YOUNG folks' headings. 

" No ; want my dolly's k'adle." 

" Don't yon want me to tell yon a story ? " 

For a moment Toddie's face indicated a terrible in- 
ternal conflict between old Adam and mother Eve, but 
curiosity finally overpowered natural depravity, and 
Toddie murmured, — 

" Yesk." 

" What shall I tell you about ? " 

" 'Bout Nawndeark." 

" About what ? » 

" He means Noah an' the ark," exclaimed Budge. 

" Datsh what I shay — Nawndeark," declared Toddie. 

" Well," said I, hastily refreshing my memory by 
picking up the Bible, — for Helen, like most people, is 
pretty sure to forget to pack her Bible when she runs 
away from home for a few days, — " well, once it 
rained forty days and nights, and everybody was 
droAvned from the face of the earth excepting Noah, 
a righteous man, who was saved with all his family, in 
an ark which the Lord commanded him to build." 

" Uncle Harry," said Budge, after contemplating me 
with open eyes and mouth for at least two minutes 
after I had finished, " do you think that's Noah ? " 

u Certainly, Budge; here's the whole story in the 
Bible." 

" Well, / don't think it's Noah one single bit," said 
he, with increasing emphasis. 

" I'm beginning to think we read different Bibles, 
Budge ; but let's hear your version." 

"Huh?" 

" Tell me about Noah, if you know so much about 
him." 

" I will, if you want me to. Once the Lord felt so 



-AN EVENING WITH HELEN'S BABIES. 315 

uncomfortable cos folks was bad that he was sorry he 
ever made anybody, or any world, or anything. But 
Noah wasn't bad ; the Lord liked him first-rate ; so he 
told Noah to build a big ark, and then the Lord would 
make it rain so everybody should be drownded but 
Noah an 7 his little boys an' girls, an' doggies an' pus- 
sies, an' mamma- cows, an' little-boy-cows an' little-girl- 
cows, an' hosses, an' everything ; they'd go in the 
ark, an' wouldn't get wetted a bit when it rained. 
An' Noah took lots of things to eat in the ark ; cook- 
ies, an' milk, an' oatmeal, an' strawberries, an' porgies, 
an' — 0, yes — an' plum-puddins, an' pumpkin-pies. 
But Noah didn't want everybody to get drownded, so 
he talked to folks, an' said, l It's goin' to rain awful 
pretty soon ; you'd better be good, an' then the Lord'll 
let you come into my ark.' An' they jus' said, ' 0, if 
it rains we'll go in the house till it stops ; ' an' other 
folks said, ' We ain't afraid of rain ; we've got an um- 
brella.' An' some more said, they wasn't goin' to be 
afraid of just a rain. But it did rain though, an' folks 
went in their houses, an' the water came in, an' they 
went upstairs, an' the water came up there, an' they 
got on the tops of the houses, an' up in big trees, an' 
up in mountains, an' the water went after 'em every- 
where an' drownded everybody, only just except 
Noah and the people in the ark. An' it rained forty 
days an' nights, an' then it stopped ; an' Noah got out 
of the ark, an' he and his little boys an' girls went 
wherever they wanted to, and everything in the 
world was all theirs ; there wasn't anybody to tell 'em 
to go home, nor no Kindergarten schools to go to, 
nor no bad boys to fight 'em, nor nothin'. Now tell 
us 'nother story." j. habbebton. 



316 YOUNG folks' readings. 



"HAS NOT SINCE BEEN HEARD OF." 

BLOW", blustering- wind ! thy loud alarms, 
They have no terrors for me ; 
Thy gales will waft to my longing arms 

My darling over the sea. 
Bluster thy might, thou lusty wight, 
I've never a thought for thee ! 

When first we parted, my darling and I, 

The gentlest breeze I cursed, 
And gazed in fear on a stormy sky 

As I witnessed the tempest burst, 
And the breakers roar on the dread lee shore, 

Of a bark by the billows tossed. 

But now I welcome the wind that brings 

My love ever nearer home ; 
Though sea-birds strive, with quivering wings, 

To battle the rising foam. 
But blow, gale ! and fill the sail ; 

No more shall my darling roam ! 

The sea is speaking ! The distant main 

Is scanned by an anxious crowd ; 
And with a terrible shuddering pain 

Many a head is bowed ! 
But what care I — my darling nigh — 

For fisher-folks' weary load ? 

The sea is silent ! A strange, sad tale 

Is writ on the pebbly strand ! 
Why do the storm-worn faces pale, 

While some of the fisher band 
In sympathy point silently — 

There's drift on the " Shivering Sandl" 



DISCONTENTED BUTTERCUP. 317 

Speak out, man, speak ! what dost thou say, 
" Gone down ! — all hands ! " — all gone ? 

Not one permitted to see the day, 
Never a glimpse of the sun ! 

The ship ! — her name ? No, not the same, 
It cannot have been that one ! 

sea ! what terrible deed is thine ! 

My love hast thou cast away ? 
Lies he deep in yon treacherous brine, 

A toy for thy monstrous play ? 
No tidings yet ? From rise till set, 

Wearily drags the day ! 



THE DISCONTENTED BUTTERCUP. 

DOWN in a field, one day in June, 
The flowers all bloomed together, 
Save one, who tried to hide herself, 
And drooped, that pleasant weather. 

A robin who had soared too high, 

And felt a little lazy, 
Was resting near a buttercup 

Who wished she were a daisy. 

For daisies grow so trig and tall ; 

She always had a passion 
For wearing frills about her neck 

In just the daisies' fashion. 

And buttercups must always be 
The same old tiresome color, 

While daisies dress in gold and white, 
Although their gold is duller. 

" Dear robin," said this sad young flower, 
" Perhaps you'd not mind trying 
To find a nice white frill for me, 
Some day, when you are flying ? " 



318 YOUNG folks' readings. 

" You silly thing !"" the robin said; 
" I think you must be crazy ! 
I'd rather be my honest self 
Than any made-up daisy. 

" You're nicer in your own bright gown ; 
The little children love you ; 
Be the best buttercup you can, 
And think no flower above you. 

" Though swallows leave me out of sight, 
We'd better keep our places ; 
Perhaps the world would all go wrong 
With one too many daisies. 

" Look bravely up into the sky, 
And be content with knowing 
That God wished for a buttercup, 
Just here where you are growing." 

Sarah 0. Jewett. 



A WEDDING-MARCH ON TRIAL. 

DAY with dewy eve was blending, 
Clouds lay piled in radiant state, 
When a fine young German farmer 
Rode up to the parson's gate. 

Clinging to him on a pillion 
Was a maiden fair and t^all, 

Blushing, trembling, palpitating, 
Smiling brightly through it all. 

Said the farmer, " Goot Herr Pastor, 
Marguerite and I vas coome 

Diesen evening to be married, 

Dhen mit her I make mine home." 

Soon the nuptial tie was fastened, 
Soon the kiss received and given. 



• A WEDDING-MARCH ON TRIAL. 319 

In that moment earth had vanished ; 
They had caught a glimpse of heaven. 

But the prudent German farmer 
First recalled his tranced wits — 

Said, "Herr Pastor, here's von shilling, 
Choost at present ve vas quits. 

" But dake notice, if I finds her 

Marguerite, mine fraw, mine queen, 
Ven der year vas gone, is petter 
As goot, vy dhen I coomes again." 

Twelve months sped with wildering fleetness 
Down Time's pathway past recall, 

Then there came a barrel rolling 

Thundering through the parson's hall ; 

With this note : "I send, Herr Pastor, 

Mit ein parrel of pesten flour 
Dhem five dollars, for mine Marguerite 

More petter as goot is every hour. 

" Dot schmall leetle paby is ein darling; 
If dhey shtay so goot, vy dhen, 
Vhen dot year vas gone, Herr Pastor, 
Quick, booty soon, you hear again." 

On the wedding-march went singing 

Sweeter, tenderer than before ; 
At the year's end it came drumming 

Gayly at the parson's door; 

With this note : " Here is five dollars 

Und ein parrel of pesten flour ; 
Marguerite und dot dear paby 

More petter as goot is — more and more 

" Now dot funny leetle paby 

Sucks de ink vots in mine pen, 
Makes me laugh — I dink, Herr Pastor, 
Next year I vill come again." 



320 YOUNG- folks' readings. 

Down the years the pair went marching 
Hand in hand from dawn to dawn, 

Bearing each the other's crosses, 
Wearing each the other's crown. 

And from year to year came rolling 
Straight into the parson's door, 

That " ein parrel of pesten flour/' 
Always with five dollars more. 

They have passed their golden wedding, 
Children's children in their train ; 

Sweeter grows the wedding music, 
Gentler, tenderer the strain. 

Fainter now, and like an echo 
From the bright, the better land, 

Restfully they wait and listen 

Full of peace, for heaven 's at hand ! 

Moral : ye men and brethren 
Who to marry have a mind, 

Pay the parson as with trial 
Bliss or misery you find. 



GRANDMOTHER GRAY. 

FADED and fair, in her old arm-chair, 
Sunset gilding her thin, white hair, 
Silently knitting, sits Grandmother Gray ; 
While I on my elbows beside her lean, 
And tell what wonderful things I mean 
To have, and to do, if I can, some day. 
You can talk so to Grandmother Gray ; 
She doesn't laugh, nor send you away. 

I see, as I look from the window-seat, 
A house there yonder across the street, 



GRANDMOTHER GRAY. 321 

With a fine French roof and a frescoed hall ; 
The deep bay-windows are full of flowers ; 
They've a clock of bronze that chimes the hours, 
And a fountain — I hear it tinkle and fall 
When the doors are open. " I mean," I say, 
" To live in a house like that, some day." 
" Money will buy it," says Grandmother Gray. 

" There's a low barouche, all green and gold, 

And a pair of horses as black as jet, 
I've seen drive by — and before I'm old 

A turnout like that I hope to get. 
How they prance and shine in their harness gay ! 
What fun 'twould be if they ran away ! " 
"Money will buy them," says Grandmother Gray. 

" To-morrow, I know, a great ship sails 

Out of port, and across the sea ; 
0, to feel in my face the ocean gales, 

And the salt waves dancing under me I 
In the old, far lands of legend and lay 
I long to roam — and I shall, some day." 
" Money will do it," says Grandmother Gray. 

" And when, like me, you are old," says she, 
" And getting and going are done with, dear, 

What then, do you think, will the one thing be 
You will wish and need, to content you here ? " 

" 0, when in my chair I have to stay, 

Love, you see, will content me," I say. 

" That, money wonH buy," says Grandmother Gray. 

" And, sure enough, if there's nothing worth 
All your care, when the years are past, 

But love in heaven, and love on earth, 
Why not begin where you'll end at last? 

Begin to lay up treasure to-day, 

Treasure that nothing can take away. 

Bless the Lord ! " says Grandmother Gray. 

Mary Keeley Boutelle, in " Wide Awake." 

21 



322 YOUNG folks' headings. 



THE SAILOR-BOY'S DREAM. 

IN slumbers of midnight the sailor-boy lay ; 
His hammock swung loose at the sport of the wind ; 
But, watch-worn and weary, his cares flew away, 
And visions of happiness danced o'er his mind. 

He dreamed of his home, of his dear native bowers, 
And pleasures that waited on life's merry morn ; 

While Memory each scene gaily covered with flowers, 
And restored every rose, but secreted its thorn. 

Then Fancy her magical pinions spread wide, 
And bade the young dreamer in ecstasy rise : 

Now far, far behind him the green waters glide, 
And the cot of his forefathers blesses his eyes. 

The jessamine clambers in flowers o'er the thatch, 

And the swallow chirps sweet from her nest in the wall ; 

All trembling with transport, he raises the latch, 
And the voices of loved ones reply to his call. 

A father bends o'er him with looks of delight; 

His cheek is impearled with a mother's warm tear ; 
And the lips of the boy in a love-kiss unite 

With the lips of the sister his bosom holds dear. 

The heart of the sleeper beats high in his breast ; 

Joy quickens his pulse ; all his hardships seem o'er ; 
And a murmur of happiness steals through his rest : 

" God, thou hast blessed me ; I ask for no more." 

Ah ! whence is that flame which now glares on his eye ? 

Ah ! what is that sound which now bursts on his ear ? 
'Tis the lightning's red glare, painting hell on the sky ! 

'Tis the crashing of thunders, the groan of the sphere! 



THE SAILOR-BOY'S DREAM. 323 

He springs from his hammock, he flies to the deck ; 

Amazement confronts him with images dire ; 
Wild winds and mad waves drive the vessel a wreck ; 

The masts fly in splinters, the shrouds are on fire. 

Like mountains the billows tremendously swell ; 

In vain the lost wretch calls on mercy to save ; 
Unseen hands of spirits are ringing his knell, 

And the death-angel flaps his broad wing o'er the wave. 

O sailor-boy, woe to thy dream of delight ! 

In darkness dissolves the gay frost-work of bliss ; 
Where now is the picture that Fancy touched bright, 

Thy parents' fond pressure, and love's honeyed kiss ? 

O sailor-boy, sailor-boy, never again 

Shall home, love, or kindred thy wishes repay ; 

Unblessed and unhonored, down deep in the main, 
Full many a fathom thy frame shall decay. 

No tomb shall e'er plead to remembrance for thee, 
Or redeem thy lost form from the merciless surge ; 

But the white foam of waves shall thy winding-sheet be, 
And winds, in the midnight of winter, thy dirge. 

On a bed of green sea-flowers thy limbs shall be laid ; 

Around thy white bones the red coral shall grow ; 
Of thy fair, yellow locks threads of amber be made, 

And every part suit to thy mansion below. 

Days, months, years, and ages shall circle away, 
And still the vast waters above thee shall roll ; 

Earth loses thy pattern for ever and aye : 
sailor-boy, sailor-boy, peace to thy soul ! 

DlMOND 



324 



NANCY BLYNN'S LOVERS. 

WILLIAM TANSLEY, familiarly called Tip, hav- 
ing finished his afternoon's work in Judge Box- 
ton's garden, milked the cows, and given the calves and 
pigs their supper, — not forgetting to make sure of his 
own, — stole out of the house with his Sunday jacket, 
and the secret intention of going a-sparking. 

He was creeping behind the garden wall, with one 
hand steadying his hat and the other his pockets, — 
stuffed with green corn designed for roasting and 
eating with the Widow Blynn's pretty daughter, — 
when a voice called his name. 

It was the voice of Cephas Boxton. Now, if there 
was any one Tip hated, it was " that Cephe ; " and this 
for various reasons, the chief of which was that the 
Judge's son did, upon occasions, flirt with Miss Nancy 
Blynn, who, sharing the popular prejudice in favor of 
fine clothes and riches, preferred, apparently, a passing 
glance from Cephas to all Tip's gifts and attentions. 

" Tip Tansley ! " again called the hated voice. 

But the proprietor of that euphonious name, not 
choosing to answer, remained quiet, while young Box- 
ton, to whom glimpses of the aforesaid hat had been 
visible, stepped noiselessly to the wall and looked over. 

" If it isn't Tip, what is it ? " 

And Cephas struck one side of the distended jacket 
with his cane. An ear of corn dropped out. He 
struck the other side, and out dropped another ear. 
At the same time, Tip, getting up and endeavoring to 
protect his pockets, let go his hat, which fell off, spill- 
ing its contents in the grass. 



NANCY BLYNN'S LOVERS. 325 

"Did you call?" 

" Do you pretend you didn't hear, with all those 
ears ? " 

u I was hunting for a shoestring ! I — I got to go 
ever by the back pastur', and I took the corn along to 
feed the cattle — 'cause they hook." 

" I wish you were as innocent of hooking as the 
cattle are. Go and saddle Pericles." 

Tip moved off toward the stable, his pockets drop- 
ping corn by the way, and presently called out from 
the door, " Hoss 's ready ! " 

But instead of leading Pericles out, he left him in 
the stall, and climbed up into the hayloft to hide. 

From the fact that Pericles was ordered, he sus- 
pected that Cephas likewise purposed paying a visit to 
Nancy Blynn. He lay under the dusky roof, chewing 
the bitter cud of envy, and now and then a stem of 
new-mown timothy, till Cephas entered the stall be- 
neath. 

" Are you there, Cephas ? " presently said another 
voice — that of the Judge himself, who had followed 
his son into the barn. " Going to ride, are you ? " and 
the Judge began to polish off Pericles with wisps of 
straw. " I luf to rub a colt, it does 'em so much good. 
Tip don't half curry him." 

" Darned if I care ! " muttered Tip. 

" Cephas/' — rub, rub, — " if you're going by Squire 
Stedman's, I'd like to have you call and git that mort- 
gage." 

"I don't think I shall ride that way, father." 

Rub, rub. " If you're going up on the mountain, I 
wish you'd stop and tell Colby I'll take those lambs." 

" I'm not sure I shall go as far as Colby's." 



326 YOUNG folks' readings. 

" Folks say — h'm ! — you don't often get further 
than Widow Blynn's when you travel that road. I've 
kind o' felt as though I'd ought to have a little talk 
with you about that matter. They've got up the absurd 
story that you are going to marry Nancy." 

" I must confess, father, the idea has occurred to me 
that Nancy — would make me — a good wife." 

It is impossible to say which was most astonished 
by this candid avowal, the Judge, or Master Tip 
Tansley. Tip had never once imagined that Cephe's 
intentions regarding Nancy were so serious, and now 
the awful conviction was forced upon him, that if his 
rival wished to marry her, there was not the ghost 
of a chance for him. 

" Cephas, you stagger me ! A young man of your 
e de cation ^ind prospects — " 

" Nancy is not without some education, father." 

" No doubt, no doubt ; and I hain't anything agin 
Nancy. She's a good girl enough, fur 's I know. But 
reflect on't: you might marry 'most any girl you 
choose." 

" So I thought ; and I choose Nancy ; " and Cephe 
started to lead out Pericles. 

" I wish the hoss 'u'd fling him and break his blasted 
neck!" snarled the devil in Tip's heart. 

" Don't be hasty ; wait a minute, Cephas. You know 
what I mean : you could marry rich. Take a practical 
view on't. Get rid of these boyish notions. Jest 
think how it'll look for a young man of your cloth to 
go and marry the Widow Blynn's daughter — a girl 
that takes in sewing ! " 

" I hear she does her sewing well." 

" S'pose she does. She'd make a good enough wife 



NANCY BLYNN'S LOVERS. 327 

for some such fellow as Tip, no doubt," — Tip's ears 
tingled, — "but I thought a son o' mine would a' looked 
higher. Think of you and Tip after the same girl ! " 

" The trouble seems to be simply this, father : you 
don't wish me to marry a poor girl. And I assure you 
I'd much rather please than displease you." 

" That's the way to talk, Cephas ! That sounds 
like." 

" Well, what will you give to make it an object ? " 

" Give ? Give you all I've got, of course. What's 
mine is yours, — or will be, some day." 

" That isn't the thing. I want money now, for a 
particular purpose. Give me five thousand dollars, 
and it's a bargain." 

" Pooh ! pooh ! " said the Judge. 

a Very well ; then stand aside, and let me and Peri- 
cles pass." 

" No, no, you shan't ! Let go the bridle. I'd ruther 
give ten thousand." 

" Give me ten, then ! " 

" I mean — don't go to being wild and headstrong, 
now ! I'll give ye a thousand, if nothing else will 
satisfy ye." 

" I'll divide the difference with you. I'll say three 
thousand ; and that, you must own, is cheap enough." 

"It's a bargain." And Tip was thrilled with joy. 

" But I wish to ask, Can I, for instance, marry Melissa 
More? Next to Nancy, she's the prettiest girl in 
town." 

" But she has no position. The bargain is, you are 
not to marry any poor girl, and I mean to have it in 
writing. So pull off the saddle, and come into the 
house." 



328 

Tip Tansley, in a terrible state of excitement, waited 
until both had left the barn, then slipped down the 
stairs, gathered up what he could find of the scattered 
ears of corn, and set out to run through the orchard 
and across the fields to the Widow Blynn's cottage. 

" Good evening, William," said Mrs. Blynn, opening 
the door, with her spectacles on her forehead. " Come 
in; take a chair." 

" Guess I can't stop. How's all the folks? Nancy 
to hum? " 

" Nancy 's up-stairs; I'll speak to her. Nancy I Tip 
is here I Better take a chair while you stop." 

" Wal, may as well ; jest as cheap settin' as standin'. 
Pooty warm night, kind o' — " Tip raised his arm to 
wipe his face with his sleeve ; upon which an ear of 
that discontented tucket took occasion to tumble upon 
the floor. " Hullo ! what's that ? By gracious ! if 
tain't green corn ! Got any fire ? Guess we'll have 
a roast." 

" Law me ! I thought your pockets stuck out 
amazin' ! I hain't had the fust taste of green corn 
this year. It's real kind o' thoughtful in you, Tip ; 
but the fire's all out, and we can't roast it to-night, 
as I see." 

" Mabby Nancy will. Ain't she comin' down ? 
Any time to-night, Nancy. You do'no' what I brought 
ye!" 

Now, sad as the truth may seem, Nancy cared little 
what he had brought, and experienced no very ardent 
desire to come down. She sat at her window, looking 
at the stars, and thinking of somebody who she had 
hoped would visit her that night. But that somebody 
was not Tip j and although the first sound of his foot- 



NANCY BLYNN'S LOYERS. 329 

steps had set her heart fluttering, his near approach, 
breathing fast and loud, had given her a chill of dis- 
appointment, and she now much preferred her own 
thoughts, and the moonrise through the trees in the 
direction of Judge Boxton's house, to all the green 
corn, and all the green lovers, in town. 

Her mother, however, who believed as much in 
being civil to neighbors as she did in keeping the 
Sabbath, called again, and gave her no peace until she 
had left the window, the moonrise, and her romantic 
dreams, and descended into the prosaic atmosphere of 
Tip and his corn. 

How lovely she looked to Tip's eyes ! Her plain, 
neat calico gown, enfolding a wonderful little rounded 
embodiment of grace and beauty, seemed to him an 
attire fit for any queen. But it was the same old, sad 
story over again, — although Tip loved Nancy, Nancy 
loved not Tip. 

She discouraged the proposition of roasting corn, 
and otherwise deeply grieved her visitor by intently 
working and thinking, instead of being sociable. At 
length a bright idea occurred to Tip. 

11 Got a slate and pencil, Nancy ? " 

The widow furnished the required article. He then 
found a book, and, using the edge of the cover as a. 
rule, marked out the plan of a game. 

" Fox ? n' geese, Nancy. Ye play ? " 

And, having picked off a sufficient number of ker- 
nels from one of the ears of corn, and placed them on 
the slate for geese, he selected the largest he couLl 
find for a fox, stuck it upon a pin, and proceeded to 
blacken it in the flame of the candle. 

u Which '11 ye hev, Nancy ? Take your choice, and 



330 YOUNG FOLKS' 'READINGS. 

gim me the geese, then beat me if you can. Come ! 
won't ye play ? " 

" dear, Tip ! what a tease you are ! Get mother 
to play with you." 

" She do' wanter. Come, Nancy ; then I'll tell ye 
suthin' I heer'd jes' 'fore I come away j suthin' 'bout 
yeou." 

"About me?" 

11 Ye'd 'a' thought so ! Cephe an' the ol' man 
they had the all-firedest row, I tell yeou. Cephe he 
was comin' to see ye to-night, but he won't ' he 
won't ! " 

" William Tansley, what do you mean ? " 

" I guess I know ! By jingoes ! — Cephe, he was 
startin' off, — I'd saddled the hoss for him, — but the 
ol' man he stopped him ; an' Cephe was goin' to ride 
right over him, but the ol' man got his dander riz — 
he was tu much for him ; he jerked Cephe off 'm that 
hoss, and there they had it, rough-an'-tumble, lickety- 
switch, hand over fist, heels over head, right on the 
barn-floor, while I stood by to see fair play; till 
bimeby Cephe he giv in, an' said, ruther'n hev any 
words, he'd promise never to come and see ye agin, 
if the ol' man 'ud give him three thousan' dollars. 
An' the ol' man said 'twas a bargain. Anything to 
keep peace in the family." 

" Is that true, Tip ? " 

" True as I live an' breathe, an' dror the breath of 
life, an' hev a livin' bein' ! " 

" Jest as I always told you, Nancy. I knew how 
'twould be. I felt sartin Cephas couldn't be depended 
upon. His father never 'd hear a word to it, I always 
said. Now, don't go to feelin' bad, Nancy, an' makin' 



NANCY BLYNN'S LOVERS. 331 

yerself sick. It '11 all be for the best, I hope. Now 
don't, Nancy, don't, I beg an' beseech ! " 

!' What ye think now o' Cephe Boxton, hey ? " said 
Tip, twisting his neck about, and thrusting his nose 
almost into Nancy's face. 

A stinging blow on the ear rewarded his imperti- 
nence, and he recoiled so suddenly that his chair went 
over, and threw him sprawling on the floor. 

"Gosh all hemlock! What's that fur, I'd like to 
know, — knockin' a feller down ! " 

" Why, Nancy ! how could you ? Hurt you much, 
William ? " 

" Not much ; only it made my elbow sing like all 
Jerusalem ! She thinks I'm lyin' tew her. Never 
mind; she'll find out. Where's my hat?" 

"Ye ain't goin', be ye, William? Don't be in a 
hurry : I wouldn't." 

" I guess I ain't wanted here. Ye can keep the 
green corn ; dumbed if I want it. Good night, Mis' 
Blynn." 

Tip fumbled with the latch, and made a show of 
buttoning his coat, giving Nancy time to relent. But 
she maintained a cool and dignified silence over her 
sewing, and, as nobody urged him to stay, he re- 
luctantly departed. 

For some minutes Nancy continued to sew intently 
and fast, her flushed face bowed over her seam ; then 
suddenly her eyes blurred, the needle shot blindly 
hither and thither, and the quickly drawn thread 
snapped. 

" Nancy, Nancy, don't ! I beg of ye, now don't." 

" mother ! I am so unhappy ! What did I strike 
poor Tip for? He didn't know any better. I am 



332 YOUNG folks' readings. 

always doing something so wrong ! He couldn't have 
made up all that story. Cephas would have been here 
to-night, I know he would." 

" Poor child ! poor child ! why couldn't you hear 
to me ? I always told you to be careful and not like 
Cephas too well. But maybe he'll come to-morrow, 
and explain things." 

The morrow came, but no Cephas. Day after day 
of loneliness to poor Nancy, night after night of 
watching and despair, and still no Cephas. 

One evening it was stormy ; Nancy and her mother 
were together in the plain, tidy kitchen, both sewing, 
and both silent, when, suddenly, amid the sounds of 
wind and driving rain, came a knock at the door. 
Nancy started with a wild look ; but it was only 
Tip. 

u Good evenin', all the folks. I'd no idee it rained 
so. Goin' by, thought I'd step in. Ye mad, Nancy ? " 

Nancy's heart was too much softened to cherish 
any resentment, and she begged Tip's pardon for the 
blow. 

" Wal ! I d'n' know what I'd done to be knocked 
down for ; though I s'pose I dew, tew. But I guess 
what I told ye turned out about so — didn't it, arter 
all?" 

" Don't, Tip ! Don't ye see ? ye make her feel 
awful bad ! " 

But Tip had come too far through the darkness and 
rain, with an exciting piece of news, to be easily 
silenced. 

" Hain't brought ye no corn this time, for I didn't 
know as ye'd roast it, if I did. Say, Nancy ! Cephe 
an' the ol' man had it agin to-day ; an' the Judge he 



333 

forked over them three thousan' dollars. I was to 
work in the garden, an' seen 'em through the lib'ry 
winder. Judge was only waitin' to raise it. Real 
mean in Cephe, s'pose ye think. Mabby t'was ; but, 
linknm-vity ! three thousan' dollars is a tarnal slew 
o' money." 

Hugely satisfied with the effect of this announce- 
ment, Tip sprawled in his chair, and chewed a stick. 
" Saxafrax, — want some ? " He broke off a liberal 
piece with his teeth, and offered it to Nancy. 4< Say ! 
ye needn't look so thunderin' mad. Cephe has sold 
out, I tell ye ; an' when I offer ye saxafrax, ye may as 
well take some." 

He was urging her to accept it, — 'twas " re'l 
good," 'twas " lickin' good," — when the sound of 
hoofs was heard ; a halt at the gate ; a voice saying, 
" Be still, Pericles ! " footsteps, and a rap at the door. 

" It's Cephe ! If he should ketch me here ! I — I 
guess I'll go ! Confound that Cephe, any way ! " 

Nancy, all in a flutter, made her escape by the 
stairway; observing which, the bewildered Tip — 
who had indulged a frantic thought of leaping from 
the window, to avoid a meeting with his dread rival — 
changed his mind, and rushed after her, scrambling 
up the dark stairway just as Mrs. Blynn admitted 
Cephas. 

Nancy did not immediately perceive what had oc- 
curred ; but presently, amid the sounds of rain on 
the roof and wind about the gables, she heard the 
unmistakable, perturbed breathing of her luckless 
lover. 

" Nancy ! where be ye ? I 'most broke my head 
agin' this blasted beam ! " 



334 YOUNG folks' readings. 

"What are you here for?" 

" Coz I didn't want him to see me. I did give my 
head the all-firedest tunk ! " 

Cephas, in the mean time, had entered the neat 
little parlor, to which he was civilly shown by the 
widow. 

" Nancy '11 be down in a minute." 

Nancy, having regained her self-possession, ap- 
peared mighty dignified before her lover. 

Cephas was amazed. 

" What is the matter, Nancy? You act as if I was 
a peddler, and you didn't care to trade." 

" You can trade, sir ; you can make what bargains 
you please with others ; but — " 

" Nancy ! what's this ? What do you mean by 
bargains ? " 

u 0, nothing ! Only I am surprised that you are 
here to-night. I thought 'twas in the bargain that 
you were not to come and see me." 

" Who under heavens has been telling you anything 
about that ? " 

". It is true, then, your father has offered you 
money ? " 

" He has, Nancy ! " 

" To buy you — to hire you — " 

" Not to marry a poor girl ; that's the bargain." 

" And you have accepted ! " 

" I have ; and what I have done is for your happi- 
ness as much as my own. He has given me three 
thousand dollars. I only received it to-day, or I 
should have come to you before. For this money is 
for you, Nancy ! " 

" You dare to offer me money, Cephas Boxton ? " 



NANCY blynn's loveps. 335 

"Don't you see? It is your dowry. I promised 
not to marry a poor girl ; but I never promised not to 
marry you. Accept the dowry, and you are a rich 
girl, and — my wife, my wife, Nancy ! " 

What more was said or done I am unable to relate ; 
for about this time there came a dull, reverberating 
sound overhead, followed by a rapid series of concus- 
sions, as of a ponderous body descending in a swift 
but irregular manner from the top to the bottom of 
the stairs. 

It was Master William Tansley, who, groping about 
in the dark with intent to find a stove-pipe hole, at 
which to listen, had lost his latitude and his equilib- 
rium, and tumbled from landing to landing. 

Mrs. Blynn flew to open the stairway door ; found 
him helplessly kicking, on his back, with his head in 
the rag-bag ; drew him forth by one arm ; ascertained 
that he had met with no injuries which a little salve 
would not repair ; patched him up almost as good as 
new ; gave him her sympathy, a lantern to go home 
with, and a kind good-night. 

So ended Tip Tansley's unlucky love-affair ; and I 
am pleased to add that his broken heart recovered 
almost as speedily as his broken head. 

A month later, the parish parson was called to ad- 
minister the vows of wedlock to a pair of happy 
lovers in the Widow Blynn's cottage ; and the next 
morning there went abroad the report of a marriage 
which surprised everybody generally, and Judge 
Boxton more particularly. In the afternoon, Cephas 
rode home to pay his respects to the old gentleman, 
and ask him if he would like an introduction to the 
bride. 



336 YOUNG folks' readings. 

"Cephas!" cried the Judge, filled with wrath, 
smiting their written agreement, "look here. Your 
promise ! " 

" Read it, if you please, father." 

" ' In consideration, 7 began the Judge, running his 
eye over the paper, ' . . . I do hereby pledge myself 
never to marry a poor girl.' " 

" You will find, sir, that I have acted strictly ac- 
cording to the terms of our contract. And I have the 
honor to inform you that I have married a person who> 
with her other attractions, possesses the handsome 
trifle of three thousand dollars." 

The Judge fumed, made use of an oath or two, and 
talked loudly of disinheritance and cutting off with a 
shilling. 

" I should be very sorry to have you do such a 
thing," replied Cephas, respectfully ; " but, after all, 
it isn't as though I hadn't received a neat little for- 
tune with my wife." 

A retort so happy, that the Judge ended with a 
hearty invitation for his son to come home and lodge 
his lovely incumbrance beneath the paternal roof. 

Thereupon Cephas took a roll of notes from his 
pocket. 

" All jesting aside, I must square a little matter of 
business with which my wife has commissioned me. 
She is more scrupulous than the son of my father, 
and she refused to have anything to do with me till I 
had promised to return this money to you." 

li Fie, fie ! " cried the Judge. " Keep the money. 
She is a noble girl, after all, — too good for a rogue 
like you ! " 

J. T. Trowbridge. 



t 



OCT 1 8 1904 



I 



